Sigma Mercenaries 0001R: Initial Public Offering REVISED
by CSS Stravag
Summary: Sigma Mercenaries Mainline story beginning, REVISED EDITION. When an unknown train lands on the vegetable garden of an American Militiaman, and the happenings in the train are revealed to be wildly messed up, four Americans swing into action to save lives and bring order to chaos. Along the way, they will meet a very odd and diverse cast of peeps from all over Existence.. (Rated M)
1. Express Train To Insanity

(Sigma Mercenaries, Story 0001 REVISED: Initial Public Offering)

-x-x-x- REVISION Story notes -x-x-x-

Okay, for any of you who have read the first run of Sigma Mercenaries 0001, you know that it was a solid start to what could be a massive world-building run / bring order to chaos scenario, but the first chapter was polarizing for how badly I borked it. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I will admit I screwed the pooch on round one. Anyone who was around for the first run of Legend of the Jokers Wild, you will know that I did roughly the same there; I had to completely redo it to unscrew that pooch.

Same story here, effectively. If I want to un-pooch it, I need to redo it. And, given the nature of the Sigma nightmare, that means a new deck, new cut, new shuffle, and new deal. Same dealer, same players, same location, new game.

That said, there will be some common elements; some of the same cast will show up, some of the other cast will not show up. It is the nature of the beast. Also, unlike the first run, I will not be blitzing this story for five or six chapters, this will be rotated in and out with my other works as normal. Anything else is up for negotiation at this time.

Also, you'll notice a big change right from the word 'go'.

Primarily, I would like to thank **Winblades** for giving me a good ration of flak for the opening chapter, and **Devil Dog / Terrace4** for a review on Chapter 5 that pointed out there isn't a huge amount of tie-in here to anything else (on the train side, that is deliberate, but it can be corrected). As always, good, hard criticism is welcomed by this author, even if I disagree with some of the motivation behind those criticisms. Still and all, any criticism is better than none, and criticism WILL be used to improve the matter.

NON-STANDARD CROSSOVER WARNING: This story is not a nominal crossover or setting fusion. It is an interdimensional jump storyline with bits and pieces of other material added in for good measure. DO NOT EXPECT AN ABUNDANCE OF CROSSOVER ELEMENTS TO BE READILY OBVIOUS. This story will go places, lots of places, but it will not initially start out that way. Crossover elements, persons, concepts will be added in bit by bit as the story advances and as RNG requires.

So, here on to the actual notes!

-x-x-x- ORIGINAL Story notes-x-x-x-

Over the years, I have drawn in a lot of disparate elements into my fanfic writing. Not unexpected, of course, given the nature of my writing being dimension hopping multi-crossover. It can make for some confusing plotlines and elements, but I try to keep everything cohesive. Of course, I can always kick everything up a notch. Crossovers, random results, the whole nine yards. Given enough time and effort, I can even mash things into a cohesive storyline.

Enter the Sigma Mercenaries. Or, technically, what shall become the Sigma Mercenaries.

This storyline started for me back in 2000, as part of a weird-ass dream of mine. It involved a guy, on a train, with all manner of weird shit going on around the train. The major details of that dream came to be the core of what I would design as an open ended role playing game that I constantly ran against myself to see how far I could go before things collapsed of their own inertia. It started with some dice, a couple handwritten results tables, and a database I wrote in Microsoft Works 6.5 DB. After enough refining and campaigning, the game became too cumbersome to run in an effective fashion when the amount of real-world time to complete a game day's action exceeded 24 man-hours. Some of this I cut down with the use of prodigious VB6 programming skills, but that only extended the length a campaign would run before it hit the holy grail of 1:1 time expenditure.

After about 2008, I buried the Sigma campaign mainly because I could no longer expend the time to try to master it and/or code it into a completely automated user interface. Around 2010, I resurrected my old campaign notes for a brief cameo in The Inferno That Is Chicago, mainly because I needed some extra mercs to throw in as ride-alongs for the Jokers Wild group. With that small foray, I knew it was time to put some solid numbers and history to the merc unit that has existed in several dozen iterations of an old RPG that I just threw shit into willy-nilly and still somehow managed to make sense of it all.

It would not be until this year, 2014, that I knew time was ready to begin writing about the backwater American enigma that would shake the world of interdimensional mercenaries. With everything finalized that I want included, it is time for the shit and the fan to collide gloriously. It will be messy. Trust me.

This is the ultimate expression of my random results systems: everything you see here, every event that happens, every nuance I write in, is all randomly generated with a combination of programs I have written myself or tasked to the purpose at hand. The only thing I directly control in this work is the Main Character; everything else is written on the results of dice at one level or the next. This is full-bore realism meeting every bit of science fiction, fantasy, and kitchen sink fantasy I feel like throwing in. It stars a regular guy whose name is famous from other stories yet to be written, just trying to do the right thing. And make a buck while he's at it.

Brace yourselves, ye who read past this content warning below. In this story, I shall pull no punches whatsoever.

-x-x-x- CONTENT WARNINGS -x-x-x-

This story will contain a lot of original concepts and interpretations of my other works, as well as historical or established fictional material. This is a multicrossover as well as a setting fusion and even has Alternate Universe tendencies depending on the flow of story. Expect things can and will change from one dimensional parallel iteration to the next.

The primary governments in this story are either historical (ancient civilizations), extant (United States, Russia, similar), or hail from my other stories (Lunar Star League / House Serenity). Matters will be covered in story or explained as necessary in footnotes or special data sections.

Events, encounters, people, and locations will be randomized in this story, excepting where established by fiction or history. Terrain on the homeworld will be randomized to certain degrees, as will population centers, extant 'governments' (term is used loosely in most cases) and military facilities (What survived the dissolution of organized control). All contract offerings are generated from random selection tables fed into a custom-written program for the purpose. No kittens were or shall be harmed in the preparation of such random events. SUGGESTIONS ARE WELCOMED, ESPECIALLY FOR CAMPAIGN CONTRACTS.

_GENERAL DISCLAIMER_: I own no rights to any included material from any other stories. I intend no offense in such use.

_VIOLENCE WARNING_: It is the root of all warfare, for without violence there is no war. Otherwise, it is called 'negotiations', follow? And even I cannot imagine a good military drama with only negotiating, such would be less entertaining than watching paint dry.

_OC WARNING_: This story is OC-centric, and not in the typical fashion. The story is driven mostly by random-generated persons, but you will see a lot of historical and fictional characters come and go during the works to come.

_BAAAAAD LANGUAGE WARNING_: This story revolves around a Kentucky hardass and the various people he meets in a really crapsack world. Expect foul language; there shall be militia, slaves, soldiers, and general dregs, after all. Also expect a shit-ton of suggestiveness, crazy situations, interpretiveness, analysis, and lots and lots of violence. You have been warned.

_DICE WARNING_: Events in this story will be controlled by the dice, and are concrete, true-random results provided by number generation services. These results will change events dynamically and/or modify established plans. After all, there is no mistress more cruel than fate.

_POLITICAL WARNING_: Political concepts and methods may be presented in this story that may conflict with established 'norms'. This is deliberate on the part of the author, to show different and rather sharp viewpoints on these subjects. The views expressed potentially match the views of the author, though are not to be considered holy writ. IF YOU THINK I AM BEING OFFENSIVE, LIGHTEN UP FRANCIS. Or, alternately, if your Political Correctness filter becomes overclogged with cold, hard reality, you are always welcome to find something else to read.

_ANTI-POLITICAL CORRECTNESS WARNING_: In case you missed the last line of the above warning, AT NO TIME will this story be politically correct. Real life is not politically correct, much less 'nice' in some definitions of the word. If you take issue with this, I recommend finding another read.

_MATURE CONTENT WARNING_: This story contains gratuitous references to violence, some nudity, and extensive use of situations that will be considered controversial. This is deliberately part of the narrative, because this is written random and as close to reality as possible. And the real world, last time I checked, is not a nice place.

FINAL WARNING

This story is RATED 'M' for MERCENARIES, 'MERICANS, and MUCH BLOODSHED!

May the action commence!

* * *

><p>(Sigma Mercenaries, story 0001: Initial Public Offering)<br>(Chapter 01: Express Train to Insanity)

(5 June 2015, 0505 Hours EST (UTC-5))  
>(Rural Kentucky, United States)<p>

" 'No one can bring me down / I will defend my beliefs / And I will stand my ground / I need to see where it leads,' " the computer technician sung along to the presently playing song on his home theater system, the chorus of the Stratovarius song _Stand My Ground_, from their Nemesis album. It was a bit of a sharp song in terms of confrontation, but it was something that the technician believed personally. Defending his beliefs in a poisonous political atmosphere was not the simplest of tasks, an environment that demanded the forfeiture of personal liberty for the illusions of safety, but such was the trend in American society nowadays...

Rural Kentucky. Close enough to the minor city of Lexington to make commuting practical, not close enough to suffer the proper 'urban' experience, or even that of the suburbs. 1 hour on the road to work, 9 hours on duty (give or take), one hour commute home. It put him out of the on-call roster for work, since commute times would exceed the SLA (1) for the subordinate companies, but the job paid well and they didn't really want him on-call anyway. With a day job of roaming around an office complex, fixing computers and executing information technology projects, there was nothing exciting in his normal daytime affairs. His home was even farther out into the country, enough so that two vehicles being on his road at the same time was categorized as 'a traffic jam' in local parlance. Surrounded by farmers, crop fields, cattle pastures and rural housing, there was precisely nothing exciting that happened out where he lived.

Weekends and evenings were the point at which things started 'coming alive' for the normally boring technical analyst Erich Hess. There were four persons on his 'road' of like mind and skillset, and the four shared a common passion: guns and patriotism. On a nightly basis, they would congregate at one of their houses and do some gun work or training of some kind. At Hess' place, they would do ammunition loading and preparation; four persons working together could load several thousand rounds in a night. At the house of Clint Jamison, the four had access to a basement full of workout equipment, weights, mats, heavy bags, the works. Clint was a big physical buff, and enjoyed 'chewing' on Hess to lose mass and harden the fuck up, with varying degrees of success from month to month. Clarence and Victoria Williams (married) were new converts to the Militia Group for Claiborne County, but both were ardent patriots and willing to do what they could in defense of their county, state, and if necessary the country. Hess had even worked the newcomers into open positions at the building he worked at, and so far things were going well for the newlyweds. Their garage turned out to be the most spacious for weapons maintenance, assembly, disassembly, and modification — most of their coworkers at Kiessson Technical Services knew that one of the four could fix or mod pretty much any gun that was brought to them, for a nominal fee. Such conduct belied the illusions of 'Preppers' and 'Militia' being social outcasts and crazies, as everyone knew Hess and the Williams were nice, civil, personable, and stable under even the worst pressures of the job.

With the group's frequent forays to the region's shooting ranges and gun shops, both indoor and outdoor, they were very well known around the community and the sheriff department. The deputies routinely shot competition against the Militia 'troops' from the county, and Hess was one of three persons in the county with a Federal Firearms License for firearms dealers that he used to do maintenance on the Sheriff Department's weapons and munitions as needed. Sheriff Hearter routinely hosted cook-outs in the spring and summer on Saturday evenings, and Hess' militia buddies were almost always invited. It wasn't commonly stated outside the Sheriff's Department circles, but the twenty-odd militia troops in the county were all on a dial-down list for the Sheriff's Department as an emergency response group if things went really sour for the deputies, which was the true written purpose of an Unorganized Militia. The Deputies knew that Hess' house, and his neighbor Jefferson Kall (retired Army from the Vietnam War) were two places they could ditch and go to ground in case something went to hell and they needed backup in a damn hurry.

All in all, it was a quiet life for Hess, but sometimes things happen beyond anyone's control...

" 'No one can bring me do—,' " A loud impact east and somewhat south of his house caused Hess to choke. The sound was something of metal or a similar material that had slammed into the ground, a highly unexpected noise in his open grass yard area. "Hell is that sound?" he asked nobody in particular after a few seconds of listening to something that sounded like the whine of an electric motor.

The technician's cell phone rang, and once he picked it up off the table, the name shown was his neighbor, Jefferson Kall. "Morning Jefferson, what gives?"

"It's Cecilia," Jefferson's wife answered. "Son, you're not going to believe this, but you have a train that landed on your corn patch."

"Do what?" Hess asked in shock. "Did I hear that right? A train?"

"Yeah, four cars, caboose, two seat cars, and an engine," Cecilia said.

"It's a no shit train, sonny! You'd better check out your back window!" Jefferson shouted loud enough that the microphone on the phone picked it up while his wife held the cordless several yards away from Jefferson.

"Right, okay?" Hess still wasn't sure what to think of the sheer impossibility of a train being in his backyard, as there had not been any railroad tracks through Claiborne County in nearly 90 years. He slid open the desk drawer under his computer tower, withdrew an old Ruger GP100 long-barrel revolver and a speedloader, and stood up to walk to his back door.

At the back door, he flipped the cell phone over to speakerphone mode and stuffed it into his shirt pocket, where he could still easily hear it and speak into it. Once he pulled the door open, the sound of the electric motor intensified and readily gave away the position of the culprit. "Oh wow, holy shit, my thought processes stand corrected. That is a train, and it's in my backyard. Now, how the hell did a train get into my back yard?"

"Hell if I know, son," Cecilia said. Jefferson was 62, his wife 60, and both were approaching retirement age. Technically they were both too old for Militia service, but Jefferson tracked with the young ones and swore he could still fight from a fixed position if needed.

"I don't like the look of this," Hess said. "There is way too much wrong with this. Gimme a second, I'm going to three-way call Clint." Erich ditched the speedloader in his pocket and pulled his phone out. A few button presses and his phone was ringing again, this time to attach to another phone line while still on Jefferson's call.

"If this isn't a beautiful woman, I'm hanging up," Clint Jamison answered.

"Sorry, Clint, this is your shit-hits-fan wake-up call," Hess said.

"What? This fucking early in the morning? Who's pissing in the wheaties?" Clint answered with more gusto.

"Language, young man," Cecilia chided Clint. It was a common running gag between Cecilia and Clint, she didn't like the foul language and tended to act the part of an old schoolmarm about it.

"Mrs. Kall? You're on the line? Sorry, ma'am, Hess just woke me and I'm a bit groggy. I'm conscious now, give it to me," he said.

"I swear no vodka involved in this, but I have a train that landed in my backyard," Hess explained.

"A train, as in choo-choo, carries material and people around on rails, train?" Clint asked.

"Ten-four (2), one caboose, two passenger seat cars, one engine. Caboose landed on my corn patch, rest of the train landed on the fence going southeast into Grierson's cattle field."

"Now that's a bitch, you know that asshat Grierson is going to try to accuse you of screwing with his fence," Clint said.

"Yeah, yeah, I've said it before, I'll say it again, he can lick the south acre of my left ass cheek," Hess dismissed the coming complaint storm from said farmer-rancher. Roughly once a year, Grierson would try to file complaints about Hess or Kall 'messing' with his fence or his cattle, but without hard evidence the Sheriff routinely buried the complaints.

"Okay, what do you want from me this fine morning?" Clint asked.

"Give the Williams house a call, and keep your ear to the wind. If you hear gunshots, I probably could use some help. Have Clarence call me when you get his attention, I'll give him the run-down."

"10-4, good buddy. Keep your gun up and your ass down if the lead flies," Clint cautioned him before he disconnected.

"Think we should call the Sheriff?" Cecilia asked.

"Might be a good idea, this is sufficiently strange enough to warrant some oversight," Hess said. "You have a second phone?"

"No, you?" Cecilia said. Neither member of the Kall household liked the concept of cell phones, much to the chagrin of their daughter and her extended family.

"Yeah, my work cell. Stand by." Hess pulled his work cell from a phone holster, though rather than immediately place the call, he started by taking several pictures in the summer twilight. They weren't perfect, but easily recognizable as a train. With photographic evidence, he dialed into the Sheriff switchboard.

"Claiborne County Sheriff," the operator began. "Do you need police, fire, or EMS?"

"Police minimum, possibly EMS, unsure at this time," Hess answered.

"Erich Hess?" the Operator asked. "What's wrong?"

"Patti, this is gonna sound like the Twilight Zone, but there is a three-car-and-engine train in my backyard. On my honor, and I have photographic evidence to back it up."

"That I have to see," she said while typing up his information into the dispatch console. Claiborne County had a modernized dispatch system, which included SMS text and SMS Picture capability.

"Just landed there less than 10 minutes ago. I'll send the switchboard a picture," he said. The phone issued to him by work transferred the call over to speaker while he scrolled through the camera memory; once he had the picture, he sent it through the system to the dispatch number, which immediately imported the picture and displayed it for the operator on a separate monitor.

"That is freaking unreal," Patti said.

"On my honor, my last vodka cocktail was last Saturday," Hess said. "Jefferson and Cecilia Kall can confirm it."

"I do," Cecilia said from the other phone. "This is Cecilia Kall, and I confirm Hess' report."

"Okay, you're the man on the scene, Hess, anything unusual happening here?" the dispatcher asked officially.

"Other than the presence of a train where there has never been railroad tracks, it has been quiet. Still, this thing is creeping the Kall residence out just as much as I am creeped out. I have no idea what's in it, who is in it, or what their intention is."

"Roger that, standby," Patti said. She muted her microphone, which was a bit of a useless gesture, as Hess had a radio scanner at his house with the Sheriff band programmed in. "Adam-12, Dispatch, we have a call of suspicious activity at Erich Hess' house, what is your 10-20?"

"Dispatch, Adam-12, I'm over by Milletson's grain farm. ETA is going to be 20 minutes or so slow run. How suspicious are we talking, and how fast do you want me over there?" Deputy Filkner asked.

"Twilight Zone suspicious. Hess is reporting no vodka since last Saturday before he filed this report. He says, and I quote, 'there is a three-car-and-engine train in my backyard. On my honor, and I have photographic evidence to back it up,' as he reported. He sent a picture into the switchboard, which confirms a four-car train in his backyard and trailing into Greerson's cattle field."

"Okay then Charlie," Deputy Filkner said with a deflating sigh. "Very well, responding code 1, should be there in twenty or so. Hess, if you've got your scanner on, keep an eye on it from a safe location."

"Patti, pass on to Filkner that I respond 10-4, Jefferson and I have eyes on and are clear at this time."

"Oh, yeah, scanner," the dispatcher responded. "Adam-12, Dispatch, Hess responds 10-4, Jefferson and he have eyes on and are clear." The scanner popped as she let off the PTT button. For some reason, they wanted to keep the old and slightly worn microphone for the radio console, so Hess obliged when he helped set up the new hardware. Another advantage to knowing the entire Sheriff staff, they also knew Hess' day-job was in information and communication technology, so they called him to fix minor problems and help on IT projects.

"Lovely way to start my morning," Hess said. His personal phone beeped with another call, so he merged the incoming call into his conversation with Cecilia. "Hess here."

"Hess? Williams," Victoria Williams said. "Clint briefed us in. What's going on right now?"

"Nothing, actually. The train landed, no activity since then. It's got us all worried, though," Hess said.

"Want us over there?" Victoria asked.

Before he could answer, Hess' phone rang again, this time from Clint calling in. Hess merged the call in to a four-way call. "You're on the party line, Clint. Victoria and Cecilia are on as well, and my other phone has Patti at the Sheriffs Dispatch on."

"The wonders of modern technology. We've progressed back to the bad old days of party lines," Clint said.

"I'm old enough to remember party lines, son," Cecilia said.

"Whoa, hold the phone, back door on the caboose just opened. Jefferson, you have eyes on?" Hess asked.

"Hell with eyes, son, I've got my Bushmaster pointing in that direction," Jefferson answered after Cecilia set their land-line on speaker. "Whoa, son, we've got persons coming out," he continued. "Could use some more clothes, though, of the three, I count about one and a half full outfits."

"They're scared, they're fleeing something. Patti, Hess, we have activity, something may be wrong here. I have four, no, five persons fleeing northbound from the Caboose."

"Go! GO! Keep running!" the last person out shouted. "Keep running!"

"What the — "

"Oh shit! Shotgun!" Hess shouted as a person came to the doorway of the caboose, aimed out, and fired. "Shit! Shots fired!" A second shot was loosed toward the fleeing ladies. The shooter pumped the shotgun, fired a third, pumped again, swung it around toward Hess' house, and dropped a fourth shot into the kitchen window, which shattered under the birdshot abuse. "Fuck! My house is taking fire! I'm returning the favor!"

Hess braced the revolver against the frame of his door, sighted in as best as possible given the limited light, and began firing. He dumped all six rounds in three pairs, and from what he could see, he thought he may have hit the target at least once. The tango had ducked back into the caboose, and after 30 seconds, did not reemerge.

"Hess! Hess! Report!" Clint shouted over the phone.

"I'm alive," he responded. "No injuries as far as I can tell. That guy must have fired four rounds into my house, at least."

"Hess, Dispatch, I have advised Filkner we have shots fired. Can you tell what happened to the fleeing persons?"

"I don't have line of sight to the escapees. Jefferson?"

"Hess, Jefferson, you have three downed between the houses. How do you want to proceed?" Jefferson asked.

"Jefferson, Cecilia, remain at your window, provide cover. Clint, Clarence, Victoria, I could use a hand evacuating the wounded over here," Hess said.

"We're on it," Victoria hung up quickly.

"Be there in five. Get geared up, big guy," Clint hung up.

"Dispatch, Hess, be advised the party line is gearing up, we're going to try to clear the wounded," Hess told Patti.

"Adam-12, Dispatch, Hess reports the group is gearing up, they will try to clear the wounded. EMS is rolling now, ETA 10 minutes," Hess barely heard from the scanner as his ears were still ringing from the six shots of .357 magnum he had just loosed while standing in an echo chamber.

"Patti, have the EMS roll in hard, no sirens, from the east. That's going to be the best covered direction, and have them pull all the way into Jefferson Kall's driveway. That should keep them behind cover, in case anyone else shows up." Hess pocketed his work cell so he could gear up in his personal-built tactical gear set. The big guy figured, if he was going out into the shooting zone, he was going to go with the firepower necessary to return the favor.

-x-

(5 minutes later)

"Hammerhead!" Clint shouted at Hess' door.

"Spinach!" Hess shouted the counter-sign to the challenge phrase. "I'm in my gear room, Clint!"

"You all right, big guy?" the significantly-smaller Miltiaman asked after he approached the door to the arsenal at the center of Hess' house.

"Ears are still ringing a little, but no pellets in my sorry ass," he said. "Patti, what's the ETA on the medics?"

"Two ambulances are running now, should be there in five to seven. I have volunteer paramedics on the way, they've all been told to approach from the east. What about you guys?"

"No further activity from the train reported by Jefferson, I have Clint Jamison here with me, we're going to move out to try to pull the wounded clear from the caboose field of fire."

"I can't tell you not to do it, but watch your ass, Hess," Patti said. "Sheriff Hearter is on the way, and a general emergency call has gone out to the rest of the Deputies. They will be filtering in at intervals."

"Have the Sheriff call my personal cell when he is about two minutes out," Hess said as he finished securing his light rucksack. Once the shoulders were settled, he looped the three-point sling on his AR-15 over his right shoulder and drew the bolt back. With that done, he safed the AR and grabbed up his old Enfield Number 4 Mark 1 battle rifle, an ancient British bolt-action rifle that he loved for its accuracy and hard-hitting ammo. With his rifles ready, Hess pulled his electronic earmuffs forward and switched them on, giving him easy hearing and protection from the gunfire sounds.

Clint drew the bolt back on his personal choice rifle, a WASR-10 civilian-legal AKM from the Czech Republic. Much like Hess, he packed a heavy kit for defensive engagements, but unlike Hess, Clint called it at one rifle (the AKM). Hess carried the Enfield as a 'drop gun' or for hard-hitting munitions requirements. "Ready when you are, big guy."

"Let's roll," Hess said. His last action on the way out of his gear room was to turn on his personal 2-way CB radio, which everyone in the Claiborne County Militia used for coordination purposes.

"Hess, Victoria, come back," the lady of the husband-and-wife duo said.

"Go," Hess answered immediately.

"We're at the corner of Jefferson's house, nothing happening. I think I saw one of the downed ladies move a few seconds ago."

"10-4, Clint and I are coming out my front door now. We'll be ready to jump off in fifteen," Erich said as they walked in front of his garage. At the corner of the garage, the two stopped.

"Ready?"

"Good to go." Both Militiamen moved in sync, rifles pointed toward the caboose as they began moving toward the downed ladies in the middle of the open grass between Jefferson's house and Erich's garage. Once out into the open, they moved fast and carefully, a measured pace to compromise between aiming toward the target and moving toward the victims. At the first downed lady, Hess held aim on the caboose while Clint checked the downed lady. "She's gone, man. Buckshot pellet to the back of the skull."

"Fuck," Hess groused. "Patti, Hess, confirm one of the ladies shot by the gunner is DRT, buckshot to the head," he said into his gadget pouch, which was unzipped with his work cell in it so he could stay on the line with the Dispatcher.

"Understood, I'll inform county morgue. Any sign of the shooter?"

"Negative, he ducked back into the caboose. I have no eyes on the shooter," Hess said as he waved Clint toward the next downed lady. She was ten yards closer to the caboose than the first casualty.

Hess' personal phone rang, and the caller ID number reported the Sheriff. He merged the call into the active call with Cecilia and Jefferson. "Hess, go," he said in a clipped fashion.

"Hearter here, report status," the Sheriff said. The gruffness of his voice told enough tale: the Sheriff was not happy to be mobile this early in the morning, but he was significantly more worried about his county citizens.

"Shots fired at caboose, no threats visible. Three fleeing persons downed, two more running northbound and no LOS or contact since the initial shooting. One downed lady confirmed dead, checking the second now," Hess gave him the 20-second rundown.

"This one is alive, but barely. She's gonna need some serious work seriously fast," Clint reported. "Fuck, we can't move her! These hits may be spinal, if we move her wrong it could paralyze her."

"And this rough ground, a wrong move could happen inside of two yards," Hess said. "We leave her for professional hands," Erich decided, referring to the oncoming medics. "Check the third," he waved Clint forward toward her.

"Help me," the third lady said in a strained voice, waving an arm toward Clint. "Help… please, help…" she said as Jamison and Hess approached her.

"Where are you hit, ma'am?" Clint asked as Hess took a knee next to her left side, Enfield rifle still aimed to the Caboose.

"My ass and legs, lots of little pain pricks," she said.

"Birdshot pellets," Clint said, after he picked one out of her body armor vest surface. "Pattern is all up and down her backside. If she wasn't wearing the armor, she would have taken spinal hits as well."

"That armor has a drag handle, use it," Hess suggested. "I'll cover you."

"On it," Clint said. Hess shuffled backwards at a fast pace as Clint dragged the wounded refugee away from the train and toward Jefferson's house.

The two only made it partway to cover before — "HESS! Charlies!" Jefferson shouted.

"Tangos!" Clint shouted as he released the refugee and brought his rifle up onto target. "DROP YOUR WEAPON!"

"DROP THE GUN, ASSHOLE!" Hess shouted.

Intellectually, Hess recognized the front end of some manner of sub-machinegun in the model of either a Mini-Uzi or an Ingram Model 10. At the 40 yards distance, he couldn't tell which exactly, but he knew it was bad business. The thug put the trigger down, aiming somewhere near where Hess was, but Hess put the first accurate round downrange, followed less than a full second later by two rounds rapid from Jefferson Kall. None of the shots were sniper's triangle rounds, so when the shooter went down his finger held onto the trigger until the bolt slammed forward on an empty chamber. The line of bullets had run up the wall of Jefferson's house, but mercifully missed anyone inside.

The rifle came down a whit as Hess ran the bolt back to kick out the empty shell, then forward to chamber another live round. The second tango had a shotgun aimed at Jefferson Kall, and fired one shell toward their second-story bedroom window, but she didn't get the chance to rack the slide for a follow-up. Clint had his AKM up on target and loosed four rounds with the Reflex sight centered on her chest. Three rounds struck inside a fist-sized group centered over her heart, the fourth went a little left to her breast and lung, but without doubt the enemy was dead, dead.

Hess was back on target for the third enemy, some kind of unusual machine gun that Hess had never seen before, but arsenal was arsenal and it was pointing in his general direction, so he fired next. The 180-grain round nose soft point .303 British bullet was Erich' preferred Enfield load, as the bullets were common in North America and reliably stopped just about any kind of game shot with them — including people, if necessary. He custom-loaded the rounds in his rifle to a personal specification that gave him the greatest balance of accuracy and power, which in this case paid off. The large rifle slug punched into the guy's left nostril, blitzed through the left sinus, mushroomed on the front of the skull as it continued into the brainpan, and began tearing through the gray mush found inside. By the time the slug reached the back of his skull, more than 90 percent of the brain had been disrupted or shredded by the bullet, so when the skull was cratered out his body collapsed nearly straight down with no flopping or trigger-from-the-grave effect.

"What the fuck?" Clint asked on seeing the next guy at the doorway to the caboose.

"OH SHIT!" Hess shouted.

"R-P-G!" Jefferson shouted, which was picked up by both of Hess' phone calls.

"GET DOWN!" Hess shouted as he dove forward, hoping to escape injury from the rocket-propelled grenade now aimed toward him.

Jefferson fired on the tango, since the rocket launcher was aimed in the general direction of Clint and Erich, who were both diving for cover. One shot contacted before the gunman closed both triggers, which caused the shooter to jerk the shot off course. After the second trigger contacted, the older RPG-7 fired electrically and leapt out of the old 'recoilless' tube. True to design, the rocket streaked straight and true, though with the misaligned aimpoint, the rocket passed wide right of Hess and detonated on the far side of the street in a stand of trees, some 140 yards behind the militiamen. In the seconds thereafter, Jefferson hammered the shooter another nine times with 5.56mm XM193 rounds, until he was sure the gunman was dead and not a threat any more.

"FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!" Hess shouted. "Everyone all right?"

"Holy fucking shit! I browned my shorts on that one, big guy!" Clint said.

"Jesus H. Christ," Victoria said as she approached behind Hess, her AR-15 pointed into the doorway. "Are you alright?"

"No more contacts," Hess groused. "No more contacts. Holy shit," he said. "Sheriff, you still on the phone?"

"I'm fifteen seconds out," he said. "Get your asses to cover, now!"

"Clint! Get the wounded out of here!"

"On it!"

Hess and Victoria both maintained aimpoint on the caboose as the downed refugee was finally dragged behind the corner of the house. "Lord have mercy, this is a helluva start to the day," Clarence said.

"Hess, Dispatch, be advised that SRT is rolling now, ETA 15 minutes to your location. Sheriff Hearter should be there now, Deputy Filkner will be there in 60 seconds. Medics are 90 seconds out."

"Erich! Coming up behind you!" Sheriff Hearter shouted before the sound of an AR-15 bolt was heard by the four-man militia team.

"Welcome to the party, Sheriff," Hess said, never moving his rifle aimpoint from the caboose. "Holy shit…"

"How bad?"

"They snapped a RPG shot off, it detonated in the trees to my right," he pointed in the general direction of it. "We got four of the fucks, though, and no casualties on our side."

"Scratch that, Hess, I took a buckshot pellet to the arm, nothing serious," Jefferson reported over the other phone. "I'm still in the fight."

"This is a bloody bitch," Sheriff Hearter said. He reached for his lapel mike and activated it. "Dispatch, Adam-1, Code 0, repeat, Code 0. This situation is gone to hell in a hurry. Activate the Militia and have them report here. Call the neighbors and request extra paramedic support, then get on the horn to the FBI and ATF, they'll need in on this."

"Do I call in DHS?" Patti asked.

"Negative, this doesn't look that widespread yet. They'll probably be involved soon enough anyways." He let off his lapel mike. "All right, big guy, your team is deputized retroactive to midnight. What are your thoughts?"

"This train suddenly dropped in on us, it could leave any minute. It's got some pretty nasty customers aboard, and there is at least one more shithead in there that has shot at us. Question is, why?" Hess said, still staring down his sights at the caboose. The first of the two ambulances had turned into the driveway at Kall's house and was coming toward the garages.

"I can answer that," the injured lady said from beside the garage door. "They're Slavers, they take slaves and drag them into the train, to be sold off at other destinations where the train lands. They don't like us kidnapping their sex slaves back, and they tend to shoot at us if they can't capture them back."

"Are you fucking serious?" Sheriff Hearter said.

"It's my job," the lady said as the medics hoisted her onto a gurney. "Hold here, I need to tell this," she said to one of the paramedics, then reached across her chest with her right hand and ripped a patch off her left sleeve. "I'm a Returner, we go into these Jumper Trains to get the hostages out. We're commissioned non-military, though, so we can't use arms to do the rescue."

"That's some dumb shit," Clarence said.

"I know, and the birdshot in my ass agrees with your assessment," the Returner said.

"Are there more slaves in there?" Hess asked.

"Yes," the Returner said. "My sister went in with me, she had a second group she was recovering, she should still be in there. And I know of at least another four, five slavers in the train as well," she said.

"Pretty crowded for such a small train," Sheriff Hearter said.

"Oh no, that train is much bigger on the inside," she said. "The visible cars are only part of it, the rest of the train is suspended in pocket space between the visible cars."

"How big are we talking here?"Clint said.

"I don't know, I only went in about 50 cars, and most of that was luggage cars, sparsely populated," she explained.

"Son of a bitch," Hess groused.

"This smells like Beirut to me," Clarence said.

"How long between train jumps?" Victoria asked.

"Roughly an hour," the Returner answered.

"It's been here about thirty minutes. Think we can stop it in thirty?" Clint asked.

"Can we get in the locomotive, stop the engine?" Hess asked.

"The locomotives are locked and fortified. If you go through the train, though, you might be able to find the equipment necessary to break the security on the loco — or you can find some personnel who knows how."

"Jesus, sweet Jesus," Victoria groused. "What do we do, sir?"

"Nothing, for now," Sheriff Hearter said. "We wait for the SRT guys to show up,"

"I'm here," Deputy Filkner said. He was carrying a riot shotgun but had his AR-15 slung over his shoulder. "Son of a bitch, sir, looks like you guys have had some party time already."

"Ain't my party so far, this has been Hess and his crew," Hearter said. "Okay, now that we have enough of a crew, I want to secure some of those bodies and take photos. Do you have gloves, guys?"

"Nitrile gloves, all of us," Hess said. It was part of the basic kit amongst the Militiamen, both for their medical kits and some extra pairs in their general kit for certain unusual circumstances.

"I want two of you heavy hitters inside, watching the door to the next cars, and the rest will help log and move evidence. Pete, get your cameras ready, one on video and one for pictures."

"Clarence, you and I have the door," Hess said. "Ready to move?" the deputized Militiaman asked the rest of the team.

"Go," the Sheriff said. Clint, Erich, Clarence, Victoria, Ron Hearter, and Pete moved out in a stack, their guns all trained on the caboose or the flanks of the train. They did not approach the caboose directly, they approached at an angle to prevent easy targeting if there was a combatant in the room. Once they closed up, Clint signalled for two to stack on the caboose stairs to the actual car room; Clarence climbed up onto the stairs, then Hess joined him. A quick nudge and Clarence went in with his old M1 Garand rifle bayonet-first, followed by Hess going in bayonet-first right behind him.

Inside the Caboose, there was no living persons besides the Militiamen. "Clear!" Hess shouted after it was obvious there was no threat. Two dead persons, though, awaited the Sheriffs personnel: the RPG shooter, and a second guy who appeared to have taken the backblast from the RPG to the face, which killed him. Eric nudged the body with his bayonet, but got no reaction. "He's dead, probably got popped by the backblast."

"Son of a bitch, that was hairy," Clarence complained.

The CB radio crackled. "Hess, this is Big Mike with two, we're at your house. What's your twenty (3)?"

"There is a four-car train in the garden behind my house. Hard to miss. I am in the caboose. No contacts in the area, but approach slow and cautious, these guys are packing some serious shit."

"Ten-four, big guy," Big Mike said.

"Man, this stinks," Clarence said.

"Part emptied bowels from the dead, part rocket backblast, a hint of blood, and fear thrown in for good measure," Hess said. "Damn, I never thought I'd really be ass deep in it like this."

"Welcome," Sheriff Hearter said as he began taking pictures of the guy who was downed by the rocket backblast. "At least this one was done in by Darwin, he was packing a Mauser rifle."

"The dark side is represented, now," Clarence said. "Brits, Americans, and Nazis. Hat trick."

"We won, then, we won again," Hess said with a grim chuckle. "Darwinian death, thou — " the door to the next car popped and began sliding open on its own. "Door! Hands up!"

"Hands up, lady!" Clarence shouted.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! We're trying to evacuate the train!" The lady at the front said. "I'm a Returner, we're trying to get out of the path of the Slavers!"

"Hands up, move out of the car. Don't step on the bodies!" Sheriff Hearter ordered. "Mike! Pete! Hostages coming out, get them on the far side of Erich's house and get them set down!" the Sheriff tripped his lapel microphone. "Any responding units, be advised that we have a group of hostages that will be at Erich Hess' house with militia on guard. Incoming units are to secure them and escort to safety. SRT report to the caboose immediately on arrival."

"Jesus, they could use some more clothes," Clarence said. All were ladies, all were in various states of dress, and all were rather frightened as they passed the Militiamen.

"This must be a bitch of a Train, to kick out refugees like that," the Sheriff said.

-x-

(10 minutes later)

"Reggie! Get these bodies back past the garage at Kall's place! When this thing jumps, I don't want the evidence anywhere near it!"

"Boss, I've done what research I can on this gun, it doesn't exist. Plain and simple, the bastard doesn't exist, hell, the cartridge it uses doesn't exist," the county CSI reported, waving to the small rotary-barrel support machine gun that one of the troops Hess had shot was carrying before his death. "Fucking 10mm Kurz, suggests German, but if this damn thing is a short round like the name suggests, I'd hate to see the big bitch that spawned it." The CSI guy held up one of the cartridges between thumb and middle finger, and the shell was easily recognizable to be larger than the old 30.06 round.

"You said 10mm Kurz, no?" the second Returner asked.

"Yeah, that's what the headstamp says, miss," the CSI answered.

"It's a chopped down chambering derived from a Magi caliber, the 10mm Boxer Gatling, which was designed well into their past as a cost-effective substitute for the 12.7mm Browning cartridge. The 10mm BG is used commonly by their Armored Infantry troops as an area suppression and light armor weapon. The chopped down version is used in certain Close Assault Weapons, as it never was intended even in Kurz configuration for unmounted use."

"Makes you wonder what kind of a history spawned that, eh?" Clint asked Erich.

"Fuck, amigo, my mind is already working overtime trying to guess, and I'm reasonably sure I would be wrong," Hess said. He looked to the latest of the arrivals. "Hey! It's the Tweety Birds!" Hess said with cheer at the arrival of the SRT guys. The Claiborne County SRT guys had such an illustrious nickname due to their love of Twitter for posting 'cool guy videos', usually of them doing paintball exercises against the other Sheriffs or the Militiamen. It was all in good fun, and the SRT guys traded guns and bets with the militia guys on a regular basis.

"Good show, big guy," Corporal Johnson said as he extended a hand to Hess for a shake. "Heard you got into some serious shit this morning. Nice to see you only got one scratch on five guys for it."

"That was some brown shorts material, though. RPG-7, nasty customer."

"Do we enter and clear, sir?" Corporal Pellis asked the Sheriff.

For that, the Sheriff turned to the second Returner. "Are there more hostages?"

"Yes sir, there will be," Returner Else Herzen answered coldly. "We know they had at least six veteran Slavers and eight greenhorns on this train."

"So, were we killing the greenhorns, or the veterans?" Clarence asked.

"No guarantee on either," Else answered. "Hell, they might have even been Mafiosi, not really Slavers."

"Great," Victoria said. "Circumscribed conundrum: we have a train of people at risk, with known hostages to be sold off as sex slaves, and no way to stop the train so it can be properly cleared. The hell do we do to solve this?"

"That's sick shit," Corporal Pellis said. He was one of two Claiborne County SRT guys, having been a Chicago SWAT operator that decided he didn't want to work for a corrupt city government any more. How he ended up out in Claiborne County, Kentucky, nobody knew and he wasn't telling.

"A long game," Hess said. Given the looks he received from the Sheriff and the others around him, they figured he made as much sense as someone would have if they had said 'the crayon is purple' in this conversation.

"A long game," Hearter echoed, then smiled. "Get on the train, sweep it, take the engines, jump it back here, we clear it out for good, problem is solved. Hess, you are one crazy bastard, you know that? You think you can make that shit work?"

"No guarantees, Sheriff, this shit wasn't exactly part of my IT certification tests," Hess said, waving toward the locomotive.

"If you're going, I'm going," Clint said.

"Lives to save, and we need to track down that asshat that shot up the three evacuees and your house," Clarence said. "Bring him to justice, such as it is."

"Not exactly what I was thinking when I joined the militia groups in the county, but I'm go," Victoria said with a smile.

"Is it even possible to bring the train back here?" Corporal Johnson asked the Returner.

"I don't know enough to answer that question solid, but my guess would be yes — it landed here once, logic would say it could land here again."

"Sold," Clint said. "Permission to assault the express train to Hell, sir?" he asked the Sheriff.

Sheriff Hearter opened his mouth to answer, paused a second without any speech, then closed it. Again he paused, then sighed mightily. "I can't and won't ask you men to do this, and I won't let your whole Militia unit go, either," he said, eyeing Big Mike who had approached behind Hess. "Four men, Hess, Jamison, and the two Williams troops. Hess, I figured it was between you and Connell as to who I was going to put as the Lieutenant for the militia troops in case of a call-up, and the runner-up gets the Sergeant position. Since Connell is vacationing in Nova Scotia right now, you're it. You are team command."

Erich clenched his jaw; he didn't have any expectation that he would have had command position in the Militia at any point, but the Sheriff had just told him that Hess was running head-to-head against the other resident brainiac of the Militia troops. "Understood, sir. What are my orders?"

"Make entry, make all necessary actions to rescue hostages and disrupt the slave trade, capture if possible any Slavers, defend civilians in the train, and attempt to bring order to chaos. Bring the train back to the county and disable engines for full clearing if at all possible. Do not, repeat, do not put your lives at undue risk to achieve these objectives. Questions?"

"No sir," the four Militia troops answered.

"Johnson, Pellis, give them your handcuffs, zip-cuffs, tasers, and cartridges. Pete, in my storage box in the back of the Ranger, I have deputy badges for this kind of job. Bring 'em here." The Sheriff tossed his keys to the Deputy.

"Got it, boss," Deputy Pete Filkner jogged off toward the Sheriff's truck.

"Food and water?" Militiaman 'Big' Mike Gaul asked.

"There will be supplies on the train," Returner Else Herzen said. "They have a supply network that keeps the trains provisioned and fueled for independent operation."

"Got it," Hess said as he fit a set of the handcuff pouches to his vest. The SRT guys used Olive Drab Green equipment, just the same as the Militiamen, so there was no clashing camo pouches involved. "Ready to go?"

"Here," Deputy Filkner passed each one of them a badge. Hess attached his right below the pocket organizer pouch he kept, which put the badge immediately under an ODG-colored American Flag.

"You are one contradictory son of a bitch, Hess. Fat boy computer technician, nice guy, never put a foot wrong, and you turn out to be a hard mofo with a penchant for saving lives and shooting straight. Once you get back, remind me not to piss you off," the Sheriff said with a handshake to accompany.

"When I get back, I will have a few stories for you," Hess promised the tall-and-built Sheriff. "Listen, can you do me a favor in the next few days?"

"Hit me," Hearter said.

Hess unzipped his pocket organizer attached to his general-purpose vest pouch and removed a business card from it, then passed it to Hearter. "This clown is my lawyer, but he knows his stuff. The lawyer has an order package in case I am killed or lose contact. If you don't hear from me in a week, have him execute the package."

"Next of Kin?" Hearter asked. Filkner, Johnson, and Pellis were asking the other troops the same question.

"You have my mom's contact info. Tell her what happened here. What really happened here. She'll know what to do." The whistle on the train blew. "Come on, guys! We need to move!"

"Ten minute warning," the Returner said as the train whistle blew again.

"Good luck, you son of a bitch," Hearter said with a final shake and a chuckle. "Come back alive!"

"Yes sir!" Hess turned to his team. "Clint, point! Clarence, rearguard! We've got a train to catch!"

"Is my life insurance going to cover this if something happens?" Clint asked as the team moved on the caboose.

"Not likely," Clarence said as the four arrived at the stairs.

Two other Militiamen cleared out to allow the entry team easy access into the caboose. The inside was still mildly slick due to the blood in the car's interior, but Victoria recovered from a stumble readily enough.

"All right, guys, once we go in, no turning back — it's the engines or bust. Last chance to duck out," Hess offered.

"Clint, pop the door," Victoria said. "You worry too much, old maid in a young man's body," she chided Hess. "We'll make this happen."

"Told," Clint said with a smile. He reached for the door latch, but —

"Hold," Hess said quickly before Clint could pop the door. He lowered his Enfield, reached over onto Clint's pistol belt, and withdrew the AK bayonet from its kydex sheath. "Use it if needed. We're not here to fuck around. Put it on and poke some shit if you have to."

"Got it, sir." Clint put the bayonet on the end of his WASR-10, brought the safety down to active position, and braced. "Ready for action, Sergeant."

Hess pulled the bolt back on his Enfield slightly to verify he had a live one in the chamber. Once he was satisfied, he rammed the bolt forward and down to lock it in place. "Breach and make entry."

-x-x-x-

(_NOTE: Train cars are counted forward from the Caboose, with the arse end car being counted as Car 0._)

Car 1 (Luggage) (0602 Eastern Local Time)

On entering a possibly-hostile room, there was an art to it. The troopers always moved in a sequential pattern, and always with certain areas to go.

Clint entered first, moving immediately right toward the strong-side (right) near corner. Once he had that corner cleared, he continued right while he tracked counterclockwise around the room for further threats. His rifle stopped on a group of ladies and two young boys, but he didn't fire — they were more shocked than scared that someone had entered the room, so far as he could guess.

Victoria entered next, her custom AR-15 with long-range scope swept over the weak-side (left) near corner and found nothing, so she swept the room clockwise until she settled on the same group.

Erich entered third and went in right, focused forward and immediately centered on the suspect group.

Clarence entered last, ducked left while he focused forward, and again centered on the group in the center of the luggage pile.

The response of the group at large: shocked stares. "Holy shit," one of the older ladies groused.

"Flags! I recognize those flags, they're Americans!" a mid-twenties lady said, pointing toward Clarence.

"That's an American? No wonder six slavers went out there, and only one came back half-alive," the eldest of the ladies said.

"Street cred," Clint said with a smile.

"We did earn it," Clarence said.

"Who're you ladies?" Victoria asked.

"We're refugees, picked up by the Slavers over the years," the older teen amongst the ladies said. "We band together for protection, but it's not always enough. The kids in the train are either our children, or kids picked up off the streets like we were."

"Some of us were picked up as kids and just live here now," the eldest lady said after she braced her heavy sniper rifle against a shoulder to light up a smoke. "Some of us were born on this train, and this has been all we know. Thank you for killing five and wounding a sixth."

"You can thank us when we've killed 'em all and stacked the bodies," Clint said. "You gonna let us pass?"

The young teen amongst the ladies gaped at Clint. "You're going after them?"

"Damn straight we are," Victoria said. "Sick bastards."

"The long arm of the law is after them," Clarence said.

"Make way, ladies," the smoker said, waving the other ladies and two kids to the side. As the group passed, Hess fell into the rearguard position, but was stopped by the lady with the bolt-action 50-caliber rifle. "Watch your ass, American. We Mafiosi, we can sometimes defend against the Slavers, but we don't talk about hunting them down. You may be asking for trouble."

"Trouble landed in my backyard and shot up my house. I'm just here to bring that trouble to justice."

Car 2 (Luggage) (0606)  
><span>Car 3 (Luggage) (0608) (Evacuated 4 civilians)<span>

A second car held no presence, just luggage and items strewn about the floor. A third car contained less of the same, but something else…

"Big guy, blood," Clint said quickly.

"Damn good, given the way he is staggering, he won't get far before he collapses," Victoria said.

"Not expecting we'll find him alive, given how much he is losing," Clarence said.

"Relax, guys, I expected this," Hess said. "If he's dead, we lump him in with the initial shoot. If he's alive, we stabilize him and haul his sorry Slaver ass in front of the courts. It's how we roll."

"Can we help?" a young lady's voice asked from somewhere in the room.

"Who said that? Or what said that?" Victoria asked.

"Sister!" a young man's voice half-shouted.

"Both of you shut it," a third voice said.

"I believe, what we have here, is a sentient clothes pile," Hess said, doing a '10-o'clock-stare' at the pile in question. He wasn't truly looking at it, but off to the side so as to reduce suspicion. His teammates picked up the visual reference fast enough.

Clint and Victoria went forward, guarding the front door access, while Clarence moved for the rear door to prevent an easy escape. Hess moved toward the pile and knelt next to it. After one of the occupants gasped rather audibly, Hess simply lifted a shirt to reveal the speaker.

"Busted," a young man said.

"Don't hurt us, mister, we'll go quietly," a kid said. From the voice, Eric could not tell gender.

Erich braced his rifle on the ground and leaned it against his right shoulder. He reached past the rifle to his pocket organizer pouch. "American," he said, pointing to the OD Green flag of his home nation. "Law enforcement," he said after he pointed to the badge below the flag. "We will neither harm, nor take you as captives. Now, what can you tell about the Slaver that came through here?"

"He was shot!" the youngest of the four kids in the clothes pile shouted. "At least once in the body, and once or twice in the near arm," he continued.

"Left arm, probably," Victoria said.

"He was dripping pretty fast," the one young lady under the pile explained further.

"That's what I need to know. Thanks, kids," he said before he tossed the towel back on the top of their pile.

"Hey, mister!" The eldest of the boys shouted after Hess had moved three paces away. "Can you kill him for us? We hate the slavers!"

"I have rules, kids," Hess answered. "I'll do what I can, though, if he forces me to shoot him."

The clothes pile exploded as the four kids bolted up to standing, two girls, one boy, and one that Erich wasn't entirely sure about. All, at a guess, were under ten years. "We're coming with you! We want to see this!"

"Yeah! Yeah!" the one girl said.

"Clarence, you have the rear, so make sure the kids are out of the field of fire," Hess said, knowing he had lost this argument before it even began.

Car 4 (Luggage) (0610)  
><span>Car 5 (Luggage) (0612)<span>  
><span>Car 6 (Luggage) (0614)<span>  
><span>Car 7 (Luggage) (0616) (Evacuated 2 Civilians)<span>

The door to the number seven car slid open smartly, though what was beyond it immediately had everyone's attention. "Scarlet! Get back! Get down!" A guy said in a hurried whisper.

As the team executed a standard entry on the car, both the lady and the speaking guy were easily seen and identified. The guy, in particular was an easy acquisition, he had picked up a bar from the luggage rack frame and brandished it toward Clint.

"Don't do it, big guy, it's not worth it," Clarence told the twenty-something with the rod.

"Better dead on my feet than a slave!" He brandished the pipe again, this time waving it towards Hess.

"Whoa there, sparky, I think you have this one backwards," Clint said. "We're not Slavers, we're American Militia. We're here to clear out the Slavers."

"You're dragging kids along! Like hell I'll believe you on that!" This time, the bar was waved toward the four kids Hess had inadvertently acquired as an audience.

"No way, man!" The young lady said. "We're here to watch him shoot a Slaver!"

"He's an American Law Enforcement!" the androgynous (?) kid declared.

"Americans?" 'Scarlet' said as she slipped out from behind cover in the luggage. Hess could guess that Clint went from zero to hard just looking at the lady in question, who appeared to be an _au natural_ size larger than the average porn star.

Hess lowered his rifle, followed quickly by Clint, and shortly thereafter the husband-wife team. "You believe me, you don't believe me, your call, kid. I have a slaver to catch."

Hess took the left side of the partition in the luggage car, deliberately on the other side from the pair, and marched past them in good order. By the time Clarence had passed the pair, it was obvious they were following. "Change your mind, kid?" Clarence asked as the team stacked on the door to the next car.

"If you're hunting Slavers, I've got to see this," the malcontent with the rod said.

"What's your name?" Hess asked.

"Quintin. Lady's Scarlet. You?"

"Erich," the big guy answered. "You're volunteered. Make sure the kids stay out of the line of fire, and you'll earn your keep. Follow?"

"You say so," Quintin answered.

Car 8 (Luggage) (0619)  
><span>Car 9 (Luggage) (0621) (Evacuated 4 civilians, 10 Bravo Mafia)<span>

Once the car opened, Clint had no trouble realizing that it was far too crowded for a tactical situation, and something about a couple of the residents changed the dynamic in his mind. "Ahoy in there!" he half-shouted.

"Who's there?" one of the armed ladies asked.

"Claiborne County Militia!" Victoria answered. "We're tracking a slaver!"

"Holy hell! They do exist! The Americans are here!" A rather jiggly lady shouted in joy.

"Come in! Come in!" A not-quite-as-jiggly lady with another large-bore sniper rifle shouted.

"Excellent call, Clint. We get smothered to death in Marshmallow Hell," Clarence slugged Clint on the shoulder by way of reaching around his wife and Erich. What he was referring to was obvious in context: three pairs ballpark boobs, four pairs lingerie advertisement, and two more pairs that could easily crush a porn star, with two 'normal' sized ladies thrown in for good measure. And that wasn't even counting the two female cases of anime hair in the room or the obvious Elven lady.

"Beats the hell out of the alternative," Hess said as he nudged Clint forward toward the group. "At ease, guys. Looks legit," he said, which was an informal code amongst the Militiamen to be wary nonetheless, but at least look less serious.

"Holy hell indeed," one of the slimmer ladies said. "These guys are carrying enough firepower and ammo to kill most of the residents on this wagon," she said.

"Some days, you gotta pack it big to get the point across," Clint said with a perfectly straight face.

The large lady with the large sniper rifle looked to Hess. "You're his CO? And you let him out of the country?"

"I'm beginning to question such wisdom," Hess said as something of an oblique caution to Clint to watch his tongue. Hess guessed the lady in the neighborhood of his age give or take a year, 5'8", 175 or so, and she showed every sign of being able to properly manage the Harris M-95 fifty-caliber sniper rifle she was carrying. What, exactly, someone would use a 2000-meter sniper rifle for in this train, Hess had no clue whatsoever.

The Brevet Sergeant decided business was preferable to Clint's lame whang jokes. "How bad did that punk look when he stumbled through here?"

"He'd definitely seen better days," a different lady answered. Hess had a brief glance for the flame-orange-red hair, which was a bit too 'flamed' for natural human coloration. The lady under that hair was certainly respectable so far as he could tell, extremely fit, 5'6" and 155 or so, possessed of certainly good looks, but his attention kept coming back to the flame-colored hair. "Three or four hits, pretty decent sized rounds, someone was gunning for him. You guys?"

"Not us, that was all his bust," Clint punched Hess in the left shoulder. "Six rounds from a GP100 like hers, from about this car length and half more." Clint was pointing to the GP100 carried 'Appendix Style' by the lady with the Harris sniper rifle.

"A car and a half distance? That's some wicked shit," The one native guy in the room answered. "You accepting apprentices, O Great Master of Pistol Shooting?"

"Apprentice?" Hess echoed, shocked.

"Probably for cooking as well," the Elven lady said.

"She's right, you probably could host a class on good cooking," Victoria said.

"Grand Master Chef Hess, dicing vegetables with a survival knife, in tactical harness and with 80 pounds of ammo," Clarence said with a smile.

"Love your homemade ravioli, Sarge, I think I want to learn how to do that," Clint piled on top of the rest of his team's play on the gag.

"You may yet learn the secrets of a good tomato sauce, young padawan," Hess slugged Clint lightly in the shoulder with his left fist. "If you're willing to follow a fatarse American into the depths of this train, you're welcome to come along. I am not going to make a guarantees, though; I'm here to stop the train, hopefully turn it around to home. If you're willing to gamble on an American, I might be able to get you a new home off this hellwagon."

"Anywhere but here," the lady with the fiery hair said. "Name's Toni. You're Hess?"

"Last name, but yeah," Erich said.

"I have a few skills you might find handy." She looked past Hess to where Clint was. "And I'm not talking gender gap here, pervert."

"I didn't say anything!" Clint protested.

"Your eyes said enough," Toni said.

"Message received," Hess acknowledged. "Anyone else?" The remaining ladies — Bravo Mafia — threw in to the last.

Car 10 (Luggage) (0626)  
><span>Car 11 (Luggage) (0628) (Evacuated 2 Delta Mafia, 3 Charlie Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 12 (Luggage) (0630)<span>  
><span>Car 13 (Luggage) (0632)<span>  
><span>Car 14 (Luggage) (0634)<span>  
><span>Car 15 (Luggage) (0636)<span>  
><span>Car 16 (Luggage) (0638)<span>  
><span>Car 17 (Luggage) (0640)<span>  
><span>Car 18 (Luggage) (0642)<span>

"You always enter the cars like that?" Yuuki (the elven lady amongst the three) asked.

"When we don't know what we're getting into, yes," Clint answered. "It only takes one fuckup to end up dead. I'm not in a hurry to do so."

"Do it right or die trying," Victoria picked up where Clint left off.

"Boss, got something," Clarence said from the far side of the partition that separated the car left to right.

"Such as?" Hess asked.

"A woodie," his wife commented. "And a THO to go along with it."

"TMI, thank you," Hess shook his head ruefully. "What's got you standing tall?" he asked as he looked around the edge of the partition to what they were. "Whoa," he said after he saw the involved hardware.

"That, ladies and gentlemen, is a crowd-pleaser," Toni said. "100mm short-charge autocannon. Where I come from, that is an Armored Infantryman's common weapon for anti-armor work."

"You follow that, big guy?" Clint asked.

"Like I said, what I'm imagining is probably wrong," he said coldly. "Bit big, probably a bit powerful for one-man carry. What about the rifle on the far side of it?"

"Rifle? What rifle?" Clint asked.

"So busy slapping the hundred-millie with your dick, you completely overlooked the rifle on the far side of it. Amazing," Hess reached up to the hanging clothes rack beside Victoria, yanked one of the 4-meter hanger rods clear and braced it on the ground. After a moment, he threaded the open end of the rod onto his Enfield bayonet, and scraped it along the deck to where the autocannon was.

"What are you doing, boss?"

"Checking for traps, this is too neat a setup." Hess basically used the pipe on a stick to shove both the autocannon and the rifle toward the far end of the car, and thus would have dislodged any devices. "Looks clear. Clint, use your bayonet to lift the rifle, just to be safe."

"Roger," Jamison warily approached the pair, then used his AK bayonet to slow-lift the rifle. "Clear, no wires, no devices, nothing." He let the AK hang and picked up the rifle. "Wait… is this a Springfield SOCOM II?"

"Okay, that's some serious shit in and of itself," Hess said. He popped the magazine to check it. "Got some beans in there." With the mag out, he pulled the bolt back, which ejected a live round from the chamber. "Looks like it is mechanically in good shape."

"Nice. Who carries it, though?"

Hess looked past the Militiamen. "Someone have rifle experience?"

"Aye," Scarlet answered.

"As do I," Toni raised her hand. "I'll forfeit, though, until everyone else is armed."

"Scarlet, up here, then," Hess said.

"Now we're doing a Special Forces job," Victoria said. She did choke up a bit when she saw the look on the face of Scarlet after she received the rifle. Apparently, simply holding a gun meant power to these denizens — power over self, the power of defense. That alone told plenty of story to both Victoria and Hess.

"For now, you're on the reserve group. Keep any evacuees in good order, and back us Militiamen up if needed. We train for this, so let us do the dirty work. Worry about keeping the tail safe, we'll worry about getting out of here, follow?"

"Yes, sir," she said quietly.

Car 19 (Luggage) (0645)  
><span>Car 20 (Luggage) (0647)<span>  
><span>Car 21 (Luggage) (0649)<span>  
><span>Car 22 (Luggage) (0651)<span>

The second door into the next car had not completely opened before two shots rang out in the general direction of the door. "Shit! Now what?" Clint asked after a third shot was loosed.

"Cap that punk's ass!" Clarence half-shouted.

Clint did a quick-check out into the corridor between cars, and caught sight of the tango. "Got him!" He paused for another five shots to fly by, these a little better aimed than the first three. Still, the aim was overall lackluster and the five simply caught suitcases in the prior car.

This time, Jamison ducked out and put his sights on… maybe a ten-year-old? "What the fuck? Drop that gun, kid!"

The kid did exactly that — he dropped the empty gun, then went for a 'New York Reload' with a revolver in his waistband. Once the gun started traversing, Clint and Hess both engaged the kid, two rounds of AK and a chest shot of .303 dropped him hard, the revolver unfired.

"Sweet Jesus! That punk was packing some serious heat!" Clarence shouted.

"Enter and clear!" Hess ordered quickly, on the possibility that this might be an ambush scenario and being bogged down in a fatal funnel could spell death for the team.

The order was carried out quickly and efficiently, though in contrast to Erich's fears, there was nobody else in the car with hostile intent. Once cleared, though, Clint returned to the clearly-deceased kid with the pistol and revolver. "This is skull-fucked, sir. Nowhere near legal to drive, yet emptied a mag like nobody's business."

"This is a near-complete breakdown of law and order that causes things like this to happen," Hess said coldly. Such were Prepper theories about when The Shit Hits The Fan (TSHTF / SHTF) scenarios, and Hess was not the only Prepper in the room. "When proper law collapses, and there is no tenable turf to work with, the law of the jungle takes over. He who has the most lethality usually reigns supreme, and kids will go out of their way to survive, even over what an adult would use empathy to get out of or around."

"And for us, it's a bit simpler. Saving lives means dropping a few punks, even if they're not up to voting age," Clint said in a semi-detached fashion.

Hess didn't miss the change of voice in the younger Militiaman. "Clint, I'm rotating you to rearguard for a few. Clarence, you have the front."

"Yes sir," Clarence said.

Car 23 (Luggage) (0654)  
><span>Car 24 (Luggage) (0656)<span>  
><span>Car 25 (Luggage) (0658)<span>  
><span>Car 26 (Luggage) (0700) (Evacuated 3 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 27 (Luggage) (0702)<span>  
><span>Car 28 (Luggage) (0704)<span>  
><span>Car 29 (Luggage) (0706) (Evacuated 1 Charlie Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 30 (Luggage) (0708)<span>  
><span>Car 31 (Luggage) (0710)<span>  
><span>Car 32 (Luggage) (0712)<span>  
><span>Car 33 (Luggage) (0714) (Evacuated 2 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 34 (Luggage) (0716)<span>  
><span>Car 35 (Luggage) (0718) (Evacuated 5 Delta Mafia, 3 Charlie Mafia, 1 civilian)<span>  
><span>Car 36 (Luggage) (0720) (Evacuated 11 Charlie Mafia, 5 civilians)<span>

A good stretch of quiet cars went a long way to helping both Clint and Hess clear their minds for the coming challenges. Hammering a kid flat with rifle fire at short range would be something that haunted both Militiamen for years to come, but the necessity of it was writ. In the absence of law and order, there was always someone willing to push the Law of the Jungle. Even still, most of the denizens of the Train were live-and-let-live types, nary a hostile word and usually some encouragement for hunting the Slaver.

In this case, with Clarence at the lead, entering the 36 car came with a bit of an interesting greeting.

"The Americans are here! Finally!" a young teen lady shouted.

"Awesome! And a bit frightening," an older teen lady said.

"Slaver just passed up ahead a few minutes ago, American," a taller guy said as he stood up from sitting down on a luggage rack. The first and loudest distinguishing feature of this guy was the sapphire-blue 'Anime hair'. Whatever was causing the rash of odd hair colors, Hess wanted to know but would not embarrass the rescue effort by asking. "He was limping slow, dragging, must've lost a lot of blood. Your handiwork?"

"Mine and my neighbor from back home," Hess said. "Any weapons you saw?"

"He had a grenade, pin in, and a pistol, that's all we could see," the second speaker was a mid-twenties lady with the same sapphire-blue hair. Again, Erich had to force down the desire to ask what was up with the hair colors, given his innate curiosity on weird subjects as such.

"You trying to leave this train?" a young girl asked, waving a hand-held radio at the Militiamen.

"Trying to stop it and secure it," Hess told. He specifically didn't tell them he intended to stop it at his own home, but…

"We'll run with you, if you kill the slavers like you say you are, we'll follow you to the Pearly Gates if needed," the same girl said.

"Whoa there, kid, not intending on checking out that real estate yet," Clint said.

"Serious? I mean, it sounds like a good place, y'know?" she said innocently.

"You only get to the Pearly Gates after you are dead," Victoria said calmly.

"Oh," she squeaked.

Hess noticed something about her handheld. "That is a CB handset, right?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes?" she said.

"What channel?"

"Uh, 12, I think?" she showed Hess the front panel of the radio, which indicated it set to 22. He chalked it up to a nonexistent education system on these Trains…

"Clarence, can you program double-deuce into my radio?"

"Certainly," Clarence took a few seconds to program that channel into Hess' equipment.

"File in toward the back of the column, and make sure you keep your asses out of the line of fire if any shooting starts." Hess waved to the pair of Sapphire-haired adults, who had been joined by 3 Elves (!), two male and one female. "Can you five keep an eye on the young ones?"

"Yeah, we got that," the guy with the blue hair said. "You get us out of here and somewhere safe, we can work an arrangement out," he said.

"Interesting…" Hess said mostly to himself as he followed behind Clarence, headed for the next door.

Car 37 (Luggage) (0724)  
><span>Car 38 (Luggage) (0726)<span>  
><span>Car 39 (Luggage) (0729)<span>

With his faith in the kids restored, Clint had resumed the lead position on entering the rooms. It was a good thing, as well; Hess trusted Clint's eyesight more than he did Clarence's perception, all things considered.

"Sarge, that Tango look familiar to you?"

"A little bit, yeah," Hess said. Against the far end of the train car interior walls, a single unmoving body rested alone and sitting up, eyes closed as if napping.

"Looks a bit dead from here," Victoria said.

"Is he dead?" Toni asked, trying to look around Clarence's shoulder.

"Might be. I see a pistol on his lap, hand is away from it, and a grenade about a yard to the tango's left, pin in."

"Check?" Clint asked.

"Well, by default, we have to move past him. I want to make sure he didn't leave us a present from the grave." Hess began advancing slowly, dodging around objects in his way, a purse to one side, a can of food to the right, a pair of jogging pants for a 'big bertha' in the middle of the aisle. An approach that took him over a minute ended when he arrived at the body, bayonet touching his chest in an attempt to provoke a reaction. No such movement happened, meaning this guy was either insanely disciplined or dead (Hess was betting toward the latter).

With that verified, Hess transitioned from his Enfield to his Springfield XD Tactical and set the rifle aside to free up his left hand. The pistol went against the guy's cheekbone while his left hand reached down to the Slaver's lap and picked up the Smith and Wesson Sigma pistol resting there. With the enemy pistol in hand, he ejected the magazine, ran the sights down the front of his leg to rack the slide and empty the ready shot, then he dropped the Smith Sigma in a drop pouch on his MOLLE gear. Since there were no other visible weapons on the Slaver, Erich thumbed open the guy's left eye to check the pupil. After a pass or two with the weapon light on his pistol, there was only one conclusion. "He's DRT. No reactions whatsoever."

"Chalk that one up on the first shootout, big guy," Clint said. "And next time I start in with running off at the mouth about pistol-sniping, remind me not to challenge you."

"No fun, that," Hess said as he packed his sidearm away and secured it. With that done, he picked up the grenade that had rolled loose and hooked the spoon into one of his MOLLE loops for easy access in coming engagements. "Now we test."

"What's the plan, boss? Kick his body over and run?"

"You have the prescribed minimum fifty feet of paracord in your kit, right?" Hess asked.

"_Hai, sensei_," Clint said in jest. Hess held up his left hand toward the younger Militiaman, and received the bundle of paracord. The 'Sergeant' looped the cord into a lasso, then slipped the top of the lasso down behind the decedent's shoulders. "All right, everyone, back off. Clarence, play this line out but don't put tension on it."

"Got it." Erich remained in place to make sure Clarence didn't inadvertently yank the body by holding the paracord in fist. Once the line was played out but slack, Hess released it and grabbed his rifle from the wall. "You want the honors, big guy?"

"Sure. Hold this," Hess passed off his ancestral Enfield rifle to Clarence, then stepped into the slack of the paracord. "Here goes."

The method was all size and power. Erich took up the slack with his left hand, braced the cord against his right bicep, and rotated all his mass around to the left to dislodge the body. Even with the give of the paracord, the Slaver's corpse was easily yanked clear of where he had been resting.

"NADE!" Clint shouted.

"DOWN!" Hess shouted as he jumped away from the body that was 40 feet away.

The big guy hit the deck and waited for the inevitable blast, a wait that seemed to stretch on and on until he finally felt the blast. He didn't recall hearing the grenade go off, just the feeling of the shockwave as it passed him.

A few more lengthened seconds passed before something happened. "GOD I LOVE THIS JOB!" Clint shouted in significant frustration, meaning he distinctly did not like what was going on. "First a fucking RPG, now a grenade. What the hell have we gotten ourselves into, big guy?"

"Anyone injured?" Victoria asked.

"Just my cavities," Clarence said. "Maybe my butthole got clenched too tight when that went off."

"Habanero sauce will take care of that," Clint said. "Cause you to fart fire, that'll open your bum in a big hurry."

"Thanks," Clarence said. "Anyone else hurt?" He looked back through the trailers.

"Couple minor scratches, nothing serious," Toni answered. "How did you know?" she asked Hess.

"If I was bleeding out, hated, probably pursued by my victor, I would do the same thing. Maybe have some company in Hell shortly after I arrive," he said. "Seriously, though, ISIS, Al Qaeda, Iraqi Republican Guard, Viet Cong, North Koreans, Nazis, Imperial Japanese, they've all done that to American troops over the years, booby-trap the dead to possibly take an American with them. That's why I always check stuff on the ground rather than just grab and run."

"Ready to go?" Both Clint and Clarence offered hands to Hess to assist him in standing up. Even with the assistance, though, the big guy staggered briefly on the way up but maintained his footing.

"Op! Found a fragment," Erich said as he immediately took pressure off his left boot. He braced against the center divider in the car, brought the boot up, and yanked a piece of shrapnel about an inch long from the bottom of his boot. "I'm keeping this bastard as a keepsake."

"Hell yeah, big guy," Clint said.

"Fun's over, guys. Back to it," Erich waved at the far door.

Car 40 (Luggage) (0735) (Evacuated 4 Bravo Mafia, 11 Charlie Mafia, 12 Delta Mafia)

Before Clint could latch open the doors, someone else did for him. The teenage guy through the door had tried looking around the corner in some semblance of caution, but ended up stopping only a bare inch before he stabbed himself by walking into Clint's bayonet.

"Howdy," Clint said.

"Whooshit," the guy said. "Who're you with?"

"American Militiamen," Clint said, never moving his aimpoint from the guy's intestines, but he used his free left hand to tap the flag patch on his chest.

"What was that explosion, cutie?" a lady behind the guy said. From where Hess was standing, he could see a Glock product in her hand, but it was down to the ground.

"Slaver with a grenade under his ass, and what's with calling me a cutie?" Clint asked.

"You look pretty decent from over here," she said. "Slaver killed?"

"KIlled him? Pfft. He was already dead, he bled out from wounds inflicted by the Sergeant," and Clint jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Hess. "Either he stuffed a grenade under his own ass as payback, or someone booby-trapped the body."

"Whoa, you don't look the type," the teen with the _Fallschirmjagergewehr_ said, looking past Clint to Erich.

"There's a story in there somewhere. Look, we're trying to capture or take out the Slavers, may we pass?" Hess asked.

"What? Oh, yeah, sure, definitely," the three who were trying to go south through the train backed off to allow the Militia in.

Clint and Hess were quick to step in; Clint was eyeing some of the ladies, Hess had checked what he could of the denizens and didn't see anything too troubling. Clarence and Victoria were slightly hesitant, given how crowded the car already was, but followed close regardless.

"Anybody know anything about the other Slavers on the train? Numbers, locations, hostages held?" Hess asked.

"At least five more Tattooed ones, maybe three or four recruits," a pre-teen boy with a heavy rifle answered. Hess seriously doubted he could fire that rifle more than once without serious personal injury (It looked like a Weatherby big-bore product at a distance), but with something that big, one good clean shot would be all that it took to do the job.

"Five and some trainees," Clint nodded twice. "How many have we killed so far?"

"Two and four passed through here, pursuing some rescuers." This came from a late-twenties lady, wearing the colors of a Bravo Mafia trooper and a set of soft body armor. "One of them had a rocket launcher."

"We noticed," Victoria said drolly. "They're all dead. So, five more of the senior pukes. That's going to get interesting."

"Kill one, kill 'em all," Clint said. "If the fuckers want to capture slaves and shoot refugees on American territory, let's see how they like the return fire."

"You make it happen, we'll defect to your banner," a mid-teens girl said with steel to voice. "We can't fight the Slavers on even terms, but you've already killed six of them."

"Run the cars red with their blood, and you'll make some friends for life, mister," a teenage (and physically large) Delta Mafiosi with a Desert Eagle said.

"That's a hard request to ignore, Sarge," Clarence said with a clap on Hess' shoulder.

"True, especially given their firepower," he acknowledged. "Alright guys, if you're running with the Claiborne County Militia, fall in at the back of the column. We've got a long way to go and a short time to get there. I'll get you out of here."

Car 41 (Luggage) (0737)  
><span>Car 42 (Luggage) (0739)<span>  
><span>Car 43 (Luggage) (0741)<span>  
><span>Car 44 (Luggage) (0743)<span>  
><span>Car 45 (Luggage) (0745) (evacuated 4 Delta Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 46 (Luggage) (0747)<span>

"This is nice," Toni said after she bent down to pick something up from the ground.

"Nodachi?" Hess asked.

"Yeah, looks like it was artisan-made," Toni said. "Think I'll keep it. Now I need to learn how to use it."

"Somehow, not surprised to hear that," Clint said.

"Nor I," Victoria said.

"Everyone starts somewhere," Hess cut their complaining short. "That said, swordcraft is something I always wanted to learn. Not sure this is a good time or environ to learn it, though." As Hess moved past Clint, his leg scraped up against a suitcase, and his medkit (on his right leg rig, forward of his pistol holster) dragged it to the ground. On top of the clothes bag was an electronic device…

"What is this thing?" Clarence asked the device as he picked it up. "Hess? Recognize this?"

"Not really, no," he said. "Wait a second, hold it up straight."

"Like this?" the junior Technician held it up.

Hess looked at the back of the device, then whipped around to look at the control panel next to the exterior door on the luggage car. "Son of a bitch! Same interface. What's the labeling say?"

"Security control box, SL Standard Interface."

"Son of a bitch," Hess said. "And I see a smart card in it, which probably controls the credentials. Drop it in your dump pouch, might come in handy up forward."

Car 47 (Luggage) (0749)  
><span>Car 48 (Seats, 2 Level) (0751)<span>  
><span>Car 49 (Seats, 1 Level) (0753)<span>  
><span>Car 50 (Seats, 2 Level) (0755)<span>  
><span>Car 51 (Seats, 2 Level) (0757)<span>  
><span>Car 52 (Seats, 2 Level) (0759) (evacuated 5 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 53 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 Rooms) (0801)<span>  
><span>Car 54 (Baths, Individual Rooms) (0803) (evacuated 5 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 55 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 Rooms) (0805) (evacuated 8 civilians, 14 Delta Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 56 (Baths, Enclosed Stalls) (0808)<span>  
><span>Car 57 (House Car, 1 floor) (0810)<span>  
><span>Car 58 (Dining Car) (0812) (evacuated 6 Bravo Mafia)<span>

"A diner car? This is freaking awesome," Clint said.

"Like an old 40's Diner, with high-tech gear," Clarence groused.

"Didn't have any breakfast this morning," Victoria half-whined.

"Some of the tail could use some water, sir," Quintin noted.

"And a meal, if available," Toni said.

"You hard taskmaster, many need break," The larger of the Elven men in the group said.

"Not a bad idea, actually," Hess said. "Hey, chef, you know what cars are ahead of here?" Hess asked as he approached the dining counter.

"Yeah, should be a block of five seat cars, and a sleeper block. That's how the whole train is assembled."

"Ah," Erich said. He was silent while the chef dialed in an order for material to make grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. The indicator plate above the storage unit went red and the unit locked audibly, then the storage unit indicator went green and unlocked audibly. Waiting inside once opened was a loaf of bread, a brick of cheese, a tub of butter, a slab of ham, and a can of cooking spray.

"Did you see that?" Clint asked. "There's no cold storage around here. Where did that stuff come from."

"That's because it's not designed for it," the Chef answered. "It's all interdimensional zero-time-expenditure storage. The Dynasty perfected it for their cars, the Star League made it technological. Pocket Dimension storage."

"Gosh, boss, is that a woody?" Clint asked.

"I always wondered what it took to arouse the boss. Technosexual?" Victoria asked. Her comment was predicated on the fact that Hess' dating scene was shrouded in mystery (and mostly short-lived) and once when Victoria had a 'gunpowder malfunction' she had to strip down her entire upper ensemble to shake it out, and so far as she could tell, Hess' only comment was 'impressive'. It made some question his orientation, but not in any seriousness given how often he dated around the offices.

"That list of attention-getters is a long one," Hess commented. "Of course, given my day job, efficient high-tech equipment will have my undivided attention. Office booty as well, so long as it is not married or otherwise claimed," he continued with a smile.

Victoria snorted. "And that explains the Varget (4) incident," Victoria said, referring to the aforementioned spilled gunpowder.

"As I said, not otherwise claimed. And certainly not going to comment at length with your husband standing nearby with a dozen guns and loaded magazines in arm's reach," Hess said matter-of-factly.

"Damn, all this time I thought you were a prude, when it was only basic survival instinct," Clint said. "Settles that."

"Okay, Chef, next question, can that storage unit do bottled water and MREs?"

"Sure, if you like eating preservatives on the go," the Chef answered in a standoffish fashion. "Who in their right mind would want to eat storable dog chow when you can get fresh cooking?"

"You would do fresh cooking for a group of over 100?" Clarence asked in counter.

"That much?" the Chef looked over his left shoulder at the doorway, and was a bit surprised to see the line of persons behind Hess was out the door into the prior car. "You have a point. Tell you what, big guy. Swing around here, I'll register you on the system so I can continue cooking while you hock the stuff for your troops and tail."

"Roger," Hess answered by rote. He took a few seconds to find the counter entry, but once inside made his way to the terminal. "Huh. Japanese."

"You're English only?" the chef asked.

"American. Only language required," Erich explained by way of answer.

"Ah. That can be set up. Here," and he did some selections on the menu. "Give it a fingerprint so you can register."

Hess dropped his right ring finger on the reader plate, which was a finger he didn't normally use for biometrics in his day job. Security concerns, he figured; no sense giving a strange system an easy in to his day job of running IT systems. The screen changed over to a first-run menu, which included a language selection that defaulted to Japanese, but Hess selected English (Americanized) and selected 'next'.

"Whoa shit, am I reading that right?" Clarence asked from the far side of the diner counter. "You have full system access?"

"Apparently so. Wonder what I did wrong enough to earn that." Hess continued through the first-run / tutorial and by the end had an idea what he was doing.

Finding the right selections for the desired food (Meals Ready to Eat, or MREs) and water (Water, bottled, 12 ounce) was fairly simple with clear English menus. The system had a 'transmit budget' that only allowed so much material per transaction, but there was no notable transaction limitation so far as he could tell. Hess maxed out the MREs, which were 96 per transmit (8 boxes at 12 per box), and once he selected that much he threw in some extra single water bottles of a large type (32 ounce) to use to refill the water bladders of the Militiamen. The system was buffered, even, in that Hess could put in a grossly large order that would be too much for the system to process at one time, and it would do it over several runs of the system.

The hatch locked, ran for a few seconds, then unlocked in the same fashion as Hess had seen prior. With the pull process completed, he opened the hatch and slung the eight boxes up onto the dining counter at some unused seats. His next material pull was two cases of MREs, but the remainder of the material pull for the second round was water bottles (192 bottles total). A third pull of two more cases of water finished up, and Hess logged off the system.

"Quintin, Scarlet, make sure everyone grabs an MRE and two bottles of water." Hess pulled a Beef Brisket MRE for himself and one of the larger water bottles, since he had not been hitting his hydration pack as hard as usual. "We will take a thirty-minute breather in the next double-decker seat car."

Car 59 (Seats, 1 Level) (0824)  
><span>Car 60 (Seats, 2 Level) (0826) (evacuated 13 Charlie Mafia)<span>

"Two and a half hours grinding our way through this train, finally a break," Clint said. "How the hell do you do this, big guy? Your feet have to be killing you by now."

"Honest answer, hell yes my feet are killing me, it feels like someone has been beating on the ball of my foot with a hammer." Hess was quick to sit down at the far end of the car, facing the 'unsecured' forward door. The Enfield rifle was braced down on the ground by the buttstock and he rested it against the inside of his left knee, freeing his hands up. "I was planning on replacing the insoles in these work boots later this week, but I think that boat is no longer at the dock, follow?"

"Excedrin in your scratches and sniffles kit?" Victoria was referring to the full-load medical kit that each Militiaman stocked for their gearset. All four of the Militiamen used the Condor Rip-away IFAK pouch, since it was cheap, durable, and could store nearly twice the material that some other pouches on the market could hold.

"Always." Hess unbuckled the IFAK and pulled it off the backplate for the kit that was attached to his leg platform. Once out on his lap, he opened it up and flopped the partitions open to the small items zipper pouch where he kept individually-wrapped doses of Excedrin. A dose, a slug of water, and he put the pouch back on his leg platform for quick availability. "So much better. Here in about thirty, my feet might slow down hurting."

"You gonna heat your dinner?" Clarence asked.

"Nah, I'll just chow and run," Clint groused. "Heating is good, when you have fifteen minutes to wait for it." The heaters always said ten minutes to heat the entree, but most persons that ate them waited fifteen — more thorough heating of the main course.

"And we're not here to foxtrot oscar (5) for that long," Victoria said.

"Chill, no need to get in a rush doing this," Hess said. He watched some Charlie Mafia kids come down from the top floor, likely as his 'tail' was filling up the upstairs, and the kids immediately set to grouping in with the rest of the refugees. "Those engines aren't going anywhere fast. We can be calm about this, we will get there eventually. Playing it slow and smart beats the hell out of the alternative."

"Sarge, company," Clint waved a spoon at the area behind Hess.

"Oh, I can sense her," Hess said nonchalantly. He was notorious around the offices for being immune to people sneaking up on him. "What's on your mind, Toni?"

"Got a question for the four of you," she prompted them.

" 'Kay, trade a question for a question?" Hess offered in counter.

"Certainly," Toni replied as she edged closer to Hess until her chest was against the back of his head. "I go first, though."

Hess figured, given her positioning, she was kneeling on the bench seat immediately behind him looking forward. Not that he objected. "At your option," Hess said as he continued chowing down on his beef brisket.

"I've been watching the four of you, and I noticed each one of you has different patches. If you're all the same unit, shouldn't you have the same patches?"

"We're Militia, not regular military. We don't really have a set gear requirement, every trooper is free to customize as they see fit," Victoria said.

"We do have some semi-standard patches. Everyone wears American Flags, minimum three, at least one Kentucky State flag, and a Militia tape on their back. Other than that, the Claiborne County Militia group voted to require a DTOM flag in yellow for everyone," Hess pushed back a bit against Toni and angled his Admin pouch toward her to show the 'Don't Tread On Me' flag. "Beyond that, we do it to personal taste."

"I wear the classic 'Si vis pacem, para bellum' and 'Molon Labe' patches," Clarence pointed them out. "My worry is a government gone awry will do stupid shit like disarm a people they're afraid of."

"I do the 'Zero Fucks Given', 'Embrace The Suck', and the Shit Magnet patches," Victoria explained, pointing to each in series. "It's a running gag from work, I don't give a fuck, shit happens to me a lot, and I embrace the suck because I like the people I work with, even if the job licks sack from time to time."

"Okay, not expecting that," Toni said. "Clint?"

" I rock the 'Double Tap' and 'F Bomb' patches, and the 'Kalashnikov Classic' logo. Do the Double Tap patch because I'm the fastest double tapper in the Claiborne County Militia with a rifle, and at least as fast as anyone else with a pistol. The F Bomb patch, because I use that word a lot. Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke, I say," he said in way of demonstration. "The Kalashinkov Classic logo is for my choice of rifle." He twitched the WASR-10 in demonstration.

"And you, big guy?" Toni said, looking down at Hess.

"Regular Guy rockers on my shirts, Three Percenter flag, 'Got Ammo' patch, and Duct Tape patch. Regular Guy rockers because I know that is what I am, compared to any kind of military or LEO professional. Three Percenter flag is the symbol of the founding force of America — just three percent of the nation actively participated, and they stomped the preeminent superpower of the day. Got Ammo patch is because I wear the most ammo of anyone in the Claiborne County Militia. The Duct Tape thing is a holdover from work, where if it is really really broke and needs serious fixing, someone calls me."

"That's interesting. A fixer of problems. And here I thought me kinda crowding you would be a problem, or at least get a reaction out of you. You really are as unflappable as you seem."

"See, that falls back on the Regular Guy rockers. I am a regular guy, and I figured if I didn't say anything, you'd stay right where you were," Erich said while working on his MRE fruit pack (peaches). "When something slaps me in the head, I tend to pay attention."

Toni nodded twice, thinking hard about something. She made her decision, but filed that decision away for later… "Okay, I think I like the answer. Your question?"

"Am I just lucky on the language game in this train? Aside from a lot of Japanese writing, everything and everyone appears to be English-speaking to one degree or another," Erich asked.

"No, you're not just lucky. English is the primary language throughout the Star Empires. Japanese is a close second, Russian is a close third, Elven is a distant fourth," Toni said.

"That is good news, I guess?" Clint said. "At least we run a reasonable risk of being understood wherever we go."

"That is so unsettling, watching you sit there and eat your peaches calmly while Toni presses against your head. How the hell do you do it, big guy?"

"Yeah, I'd like to know that," Victoria said drolly.

"Same skillset I use for stress management," Erich said between bites. "No matter how much I don't like it, in the case of work, or no matter how much I do like it, as in this case," he waved his spoon at Toni behind him, "Handle everything calmly, plan on making the necessary moves at the proper times, and enjoy the experience. Everything has its benefits and detriments, just a question of when, where, how."

Toni worked hard to suppress the giggling fit that Hess' comment engendered, especially for the (probably intentional) double entendre of his stress management policy.

"Wow. So right and so wrong, all at once," Clint said.

"You know, this makes me wonder," Clarence said. "When we're at Clint's place, we listen to hard techno and electronica music, goes along with working out. When we're at my place, we listen to country rock," he waved at his wife. "You never choose the music at your place, big guy, you let us pick, which usually ends up being Classic Rock. Why?"

"I'd like to know what he keeps on that phone of his," Clint said. It was obvious he listened to some manner of music through his phone, but it was usually inaudible.

"I plead the fifth," Hess answered immediately.

"The fifth? Right to avoid self-incrimination?" Clint asked for clarification.

"Exactly so," Hess said as he packed up his MRE leftovers. The trail mix pouch went into his GP MOLLE pouch for later consumption.

"Embarrassing choice? Or is it projection? Saying you hate something, while secretly listening to it?" Victoria asked.

"Projection is out the window," Erich said readily. "I wipe my arse with rap music. You can rest assured I do not secretly support the dark side." Hess looked over his right shoulder and around Toni's side, to where the other personnel and trailers were. "We ready to go?"

Car 61 (Seats, 1 Level) (0858)

"You still haven't answered the question, big guy," Toni said, following close behind Hess. "What sort of music do you listen to? You don't strike me as the kind that would listen to classical, you've already disavowed rap, pop would be too soft," she continued. "Ah! I get it! You must be a hard rocker! It fits!"

"How do you come to that conclusion?" Hess asked as Clint and himself approached the end of the car. Nobody was identifiable in the seats, and no miscellaneous material left around to inspect, so…

"You are the kind of quiet, serious person that gives the illusion of being a peaceful sort, but I guess you headbang to the hard stuff in private."

"Nope, can't headbang," Hess said. "I get migraine headaches whenever I try to headbang, so I foreswore that hobby long ago," the big guy answered.

"Clear center," Clint shouted.

"Clear left!" Victoria responded.

"Clear right!" Clarence finished.

"Bring it up," Hess waved the rest of the trailing body forward.

"So, am I right?" Toni asked.

"No," Hess answered simply. "I used to listen to Metal, back when I was a teen, but I buried that long ago."

"Okay, I'm starting to run out of things to guess," Toni grumped. "Or there may not be an answer. He may not listen to anything."

"Listening to the mental exercises of you guys trying to justify the guesses on my music tastes is rather entertaining," Hess said with a smile. "Now, we've done our rest br — " he was cut short by the door opening in front of Clint.

The lady that opened the doors was looking over her shoulder while trying to run forward, and never noticed Clint until she ran body-first into him and bounced off the Militiaman. "Ow! OW! Sorry!" She looked forward after the impact, though took a few seconds to understand what she was seeing. "Soldiers! Americans! I'm safe!"

"Building a reputation in these parts," Clarence said from behind Hess.

"What's going on, milady?" Clint said.

"I was kidnapped by these guys that said they'd sell me into slavery or something," she said. "I tased one of them and was able to get away by running back this way," she said, looking back over her shoulder at the door. "You can help me, right? You are American soldiers, right?"

"Yes, we can help," Clint answered. "We're here to get the Slavers and get the train back home so it can be cleared. We're Militia soldiers, deputized by the Claiborne County Sheriff to rescue this train and the people on it."

Clint probably didn't notice the shift in demeanor, but Hess saw it just a moment too late. "Clint! Get — " he was a little surprised that a stun gun made so much noise as it discharged into someone, but he wasn't surprised to see the much smaller Militiaman collapse under the 600,000-volt hammering administered by the lady. What was more shocking was how she was able to hold him up in some semblance of using Clint as a human shield.

"The hell is going on?" Victoria said as she stepped into a gap between metro-liner style seats and took aim at the suddenly-hostile lady in their midst. Clarence had done the same, though Hess held where he was, simply aiming down the sights of his Enfield rifle.

"I second the question, what is going on?" Hess asked calmly.

"You're Militia!"

"Well, yes?" Clarence said.

"Racist right-wingers that hate the government and want a race war!" She continued.

"The fuck is she talking about?" Clarence asked.

"Help," Clint requested in a stilted fashion, and received a shock from the taser in compense.

"The Militia theory," Hess said, then lowered his rifle. "Stand down your weapons, she is panicking under a false pretense."

"Help," Clint croaked, and received another shock. "Shoot the hostage," he said, mimicking the Speed movie.

"Tempting, but no," Hess said as he set the Enfield aside, deliberately leaving his hands open. "The lady is convinced of the fabrication of the Hard Left media, that militias exist as racist, anti-semitic hate groups that are preparing to overthrow the government and kill off the various ethnic groups. Do I have your understanding correct?"

"It is the truth," she said warily, wondering where this was going.

"Oh, that," Victoria said. "Wow. I didn't think anyone actually believed that bullshit."

"Shoot the hostage, you prick," Clint said, and received another quarter-second shock for it.

"Okay, we've established that, since we four are Militia, we are supposed to be anti-government and racist to the core. Which is very interesting," Hess said. "So, Miss Taser, if I am supposed to be so freaking racist I want to kill 'em all, why did I allow myself to be deputized by a black-as-midnight Sheriff for the purpose of boarding a train to save the lives of obvious non-humans and multiple human ethnicities alike?"

"I don't believe it!" She said defiantly, then shocked Clint again for no apparent reason.

"She'll run out of taser battery soon enough," Clarence guessed.

"Too many more hits and it might induce cardiac arrest," Victoria pointed out fairly.

Hess did not say anything more, he simply pulled his deputy badge and tossed it over next to her. "There is my Deputized badge, issued to me this morning by Sheriff Ron Hearter, Claiborne County Kentucky. Big guy, 6'5" and 265, blacker than Frank White, helluva nice guy. We shoot competition at the local gun range third Saturday of every month, loser pays for lunch. He beats me three times of five in pistol, but I usually win with rifle or shotgun."

Toni gasped behind him; Hess looked over his shoulder briefly at the lady hovering behind him, though couldn't tell what surprised her. When he looked back, he noticed that Miss Taser had put the taser in her pocket, then reached out toward where the badge landed. Rather than stoop to pick it up, the badge slid, slid some more, then vaulted through the air to her hand. Again, Toni gasped, though Hess simply clenched his jaw.

"A telekinetic and a telepath," Toni whispered. Hess nodded very slightly.

"You're not lying," she said after she held the badge for several seconds.

"A final nail in the coffin of the lies you were operating under," Hess opined. "Yuuki, Andrea, up here!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"Coming, sir!" Andrea half-shouted in response. The two did not take long to come up behind the big guy.

"Here," Yuuki declared when she stopped behind Toni.

"Please step to the side here," Hess indicated a seat area to his left.

"Sir," both ladies stepped to the side and faced forward. Once they were in plain sight, Miss Taser gasped again.

"Now, if I am supposed to be so racist that I want to kill them all, why am I working toward saving the lives of an obvious nonhuman, Yuuki, and someone with a wildly unnatural-for-a-human but very real and natural hair color such as Andrea?" Hess asked.

"I get the point," she muttered.

"Case closed," Hess said. "Would you be so kind as to release my pointman now?"

"Oh, yeah," the lady said. She did release Clint, though on a short forward trajectory. He bounced off the corner of one of the metro-liner seats and flopped to the ground.

"I said shoot the hostage for a reason," Clint groused. "That damn taser HURTS!"

"You have no idea how many times I've wanted to see him tased," Victoria said with a smile.

"All's well that ends," Hess said as he hauled Clint to standing with only one hand, though Clint ended up simply collapsing into a nearby bench seat. "Take five, and be sure to ground yourself. You've absorbed a lot of voltage."

"No shit, _sensei_," Clint grumped.

Hess sighed. "I'm not going to hold the taser incident against you, though Clint may," and Hess received a weak punch to the side for his comment. "You were operating under an ingrained fear, even if inaccurate. I do ask that you refrain from tasing people from now on, unless they are presenting an actual physical or to-be-physical threat. Contrary to the labeling, those are not non-lethal defensive weapons; several times a year, people are killed by tasers. Avoid it if possible."

"Okay," she said, looking at the floor somewhere between herself and Clint's boots.

"What's your name?" Erich asked quietly.

"Cynthia," she said. "Cynthia Williams, California."

"You want off this train, I'll get you off this train. Point out the Slaver that grabbed you, they will be dealt with. And hold your head up; you've escaped and evaded, made it to friendly lines, you're doing better than 95% of kidnapping victims."

-x-x-x-

(Same timeframe)  
>(At the scene of the train landing, Claiborne County, Rural Kentucky, United States)<p>

"Feds are here," Deputy Filkner said.

"Better and better," Sheriff Hearter groused. "Agent Loucas, what do you have on the Model 10?"

"Good working order, but it's got some wear in some of the parts, tells me this gun has been around the block a few times," ATF Agent Alejandro Loucas said. "Serial number is way above the Military Arms Company production run, which supports the thought that the Returner is pushing."

"How much?" the Sheriff asked.

"Big time. The serial number on this is above 67 million. Military Armaments Corp never put out more than 2 million total guns in its entire business tenure."

"Damn, fits the narrative. And the RPG tube?"

"Same story, Sheriff. The tube is numbered nine digits, above 370 million in the production run. The CIA numbers on worldwide production of the weapon doesn't exceed 12 million. And you already know about the Kelber MG22 CAW," the ATF agent waved to the weapon in question. It had been disarmed and locked open, with a 90-round belt of ammo available for use in a gun that would likely never be fired again.

"Un-fucking-real," Sheriff Hearter said. "I was pretty sure the Returner wasn't lying, but the more hard numbers hit me, the worse I feel about sending those four into the train."

"You can hold off on worrying about the four troops you sent in," the approaching FBI agent said. "Special Agent Kyle Longforth, Eastern Area Special Crimes and Actions task force. You would be Sheriff Hearter?"

"I am," the Sheriff said warily.

"Okay, before we continue, I want to say that we're here in an advisory / horsepower role, we're not taking over. As far as the FBI is concerned, this is a local incident with some nasty customers facing off against some hard Americans. What's the score?"

"Tangos got two kills and two wounds," the Sheriff counted off. The lady that had taken the hits with the birdshot to the back had died on the operating table at Lexington Mercy, was revived, and died again with no second return. The preliminary was massive shock from the birdshot, but a full autopsy was underway. "Refugees had ten escapees, I have them down at the station getting cleaned up and taking statements now. Militia has five confirmed kills plus one probable from the first shooting incident."

"Damn good shooting from your militia boys," Longforth said. "As much as The Press has built a mythos around the right-wing Militia guys, they're necessary for just exactly things like this."

"Things?" Sheriff Hearter said. "Don't tell me this has happened before."

"If I didn't tell you, I'd be lying by omission," Kyle dropped a folder on the hood of the Sheriff's SUV. "This train is incident number five that we can confirm, and we've learned more from this train than the past four."

Hearter didn't take more than two minutes to look through the synopses of the reports. "Jesus Almighty," he swore before he handed the reports to Filkner. "The dates. They're on a curve, and it's getting steeper."

"You noticed as well," Longforth said. "The gaps are 7, 6, 5, 4 years respectively. Keep in mind, these are only trains we can confirm landed here, in America. We don't have any hard data on unconfirmed trains, or trains that landed outside our view."

"So we can expect to see another train in 3 years or so, unless our boys can wrangle this train back to us," the Sheriff said. "The Returners think it is possible. If anyone can make it happen, it would be Hess. He's a damn genius with electronics."

"We went over what we have on Hess," Longforth dropped another file on the desk. "This was compiled under a prior administration, one that was hostile to Militia troops."

"Whoa," the Sheriff said. "You guys think his IQ is that high?"

"That or higher," Longforth said. "You'll note the psych eval in there is old. It was done by a Pshrink we no longer have on staff, because he was too quick to call Hard-Righters 'insane', little bit of a political bias there. We had two other neutral docs look it over, they discredit the original report, and one of them thinks he is rock-solid psychologically. The guy may be unbreakable from a mental standpoint."

"And I sent him and three more into the train to secure it and bring it back here. This plan may just work," Hearter said. "Damn, is that for real?" Hearter said, pointing to a line on the psych eval notes.

"Yeah, it's real. He's all over Youtube for that music, as weird as it is. And the hell of it is, he is not known to speak more than four or five words of Japanese, if that."

"Never knew that about the guy. Have to look into that," the Sheriff took a note down for the information in question. "Okay, this brings two questions. One, if this train shows back up, what do we do?"

"If it shows up, and your boys have secured it, grab it and clear it, extract the refugees, capture any suspects possible. Especially try to get the Slavers, but some of the Mafia may be hostile as well. I'd use tactical teams with extensive trailer support," Kyle suggested.

"And if a new train shows up?" Deputy Filkner asked.

"That's not a question I could answer easily. It's reasonable to guess one train is not the same as the next, so who knows what is going on in them? I'd have to say, that is up to the man on the ground. For sure, though, I don't expect any of the Trains to be pretty on the inside."

"This one certainly wasn't," the Sheriff said. "God protect those crazy pukes Hess, Jamison, and the Williams, they'll need it."

"They're the right kind of people for the job, Sheriff. They exist to protect, and they have a whole train that could use the protection. They're unlikely to face any organized resistance, there is none on the Trains. If the worst thing on the train is the Slavers, they're likely to make it out alive," FBI Special Agent Longforth said.

It would be three years local time before the Special Agent had an answer to his prediction, and that answer would be well beyond anyone's expectations.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Chapter Afterword<strong>:

Second verse, hopefully better than the first!

I will be the first to admit, my first go was a ground-breaker. I was working on the manner and method of the narrative. And while I think the first go was pretty good, there were some things that nuked the narrative early on. Hence, the motivation to redo it right this time.

Now, this build is a bit different, with things changed around to a significant degree, a new train, new cut, new deck, new shuffle, and some fresh faces to do the job. There are some repeat offenders in the story, but things are for the most part scaled up to a very significant degree. Definitely, because I now have four Militia troops in the op, things are required to get hairier for everyone.

First, the new faces. Clint is a look at the prototypical mid-twenties Patriot. Loves the country, steady job, dedicated lady-chaser (with minimal success, he's too nice a guy), and a major proponent of the Prepper and Militia movements. A bit hyper, big physical buff, weightlifter and as shown, a lover of Kalashnikov rifles. He tends to come off as the hyper guy in the team, but also gets a whiff of the butt monkey treatment, as evidenced by the tasing incident above.

I wrote Clarence out as a look at a Militia prepper / gun bunny type of guy, written realistically and not to the unholy panic degree that Moms Demand Action would show. Clarence is a WW2 gun bunny, a bad habit he picked up from a Great Uncle who was in WW2 and Korea. He owns every civilian-legal non-NFA WW2 firearm except for a 1903-pattern Sniper Rifle. Beyond that, he is also a big gun buff in general, a business analyst and a yard keeper extraordinaire. Clarence and his wife are both churchgoers, but not hard religious types.

Victoria Dee Williams is a look at the unsung group of the Militia / Prepper / Tea Party groups: the ladies, which is a group that Mom Demands Action / Bloomberg / Everytown Mayors would do their damndest to convince you does not exist. In inversion of common trends, though, Victoria is the least worrying of the four in the militia band, to the point of calling the others (and Hess specifically) 'old maids in young men's boots'. She is also a bit of a stealth snarker to Clint's frequent snarker, which can make conversations with her a bit sharp if not expecting the sharp wit. Of the four, she also carries the lightest kit, but for climbing purposes in her case — she can carry a double-rifle kit just as well as the rest of the team, but she prefers the light gear for her sharpshooter preferences.

Hess is the returning offender of the group, and who I initially showed as a not-comprehensive Militiaman. He's a big guy, overweight his whole life, but he puts it to helluva good use — of the four, he is hands down the strongest, but he has near zero endurance for running or heavy cardio activities. He also carries the heaviest kit of the team bar none, with the Enfield, the AR-15 customized, the 870 Express Magnum shotgun, and the XD Tactical with a total of seven magazines. This is due to his preference of being the team anchor, the man who holds positions and denies enemies free movement through his AO. It results in a slower movement pace for the whole unit, but none of the team would deride his firepower or accuracy once the lead starts flying.

There are other Militiamen I wrote out for the story, but they will factor into later stories in the Sigma line, so I won't go over them in depth.

One thing you will notice, I have changed up things to a big degree, increasing the random factor on the opposition. Not as many fights, but bigger units and more varied personnel. Also, a lot more Slavers involved here, and you'll get to see their ranks in full in the next chapter. Also, going forward I am working on tweaking the random character generation and the random location generation effects, which shall help immensely with event, location, and person generation.

The one major thing you will see going forward, though, is the running threads concept — storylines that keep coming back around for another slap in the face until they are finally resolved. That was one of the major things I had going against me in the last run, things got disheveled quickly and didn't work towards conclusion. I do not intend to make that mistake this time around. Things will move forward at a more logical pace, and with more detail and activity.

The downside of this change is I have pretty much scrapped the entire first round down to nothing. New deck, new cut, new shuffle — that is an end-to-end promise. Some thingss will remain the same, but not all. And, as was pointed out to me by a random bird involved in this operation, the political side with the Protectorate was far too neat. The Star League is going to be a bit more asshole about it going forward this time. That will make things harder for Hess and his merry band of miscreants.

That's it for my notes. Thank you all for the first round, and I intend to do better this time!

**NEXT UP**: Advancing through the train is no simple task, and with the body of the Slavers ahead, things have the likelihood of getting deadly quick.

**NOTICE**: The next chapter will probably be it for a linear run on this story. After that, I will be working on this in bits and pieces while I do my nominal writing on the mainline stories.

* * *

><p><strong>Review Replies<strong>:

No active review replies for this chapter (it is the first). Reviews and replies from **Chapter 5 of the first round**:

Terrace4 / Devil Dog: "Hey, it's the guy formerly known as Devil Dog here. Just popping in to state for the record that you're a good author, and I look forward to more of Archangel's Amazing Adventures.

That said, I'm going to have to discuss the problems I'm having with this story. The characters just don't grab me, as they're all OCs. The plot requires some implausible reactions to get started, and I honestly don't find it interesting. Is this story needed to understand future stories? Is it just side materials? I'm sorry, but I'm just bored to tears reading this one."

**REPLY**: As I noted in the opening of this redux, this is NOT a standard crossover. Elements will be crossed in at appropriate times, ro as the Random Number Gods see fit. Mostly, this is a take on RTS / RPG done in real-world circumstances with crossover elements thrown in for good measure. Hopefully, this redux is better for you, but if you don't want to read it, no big thang. The entire Sigma line is a massive dimension-hopper crossover, but is not really critical reading to stay current on the MMC, JW, or AAA series.

Holy Dragoon: "Ouch, dices are a bitch at times. Sad to see Tyee buying the great farm, but so is life. They better have some wood on reserve for any future coffins... or whichever is their choice of funeral.

Now that I was reading about transforming people into objects, I was reminded of a little item from the Ogre series called Snapshot (or Snapdragon). The effect is pretty similar, with the difference that it always ends up being a sword that inherits a part of the stats of the snapped character.

... yeah, it's souled sword. Useful Creepy Shit."

**REPLY**: The dice are unforgiving, and this time will be no different. Chapter two will demonstrate some of that, and it shall only get worse.

As to the transformation spellcraft, I don't know where I picked it up. Can tell you right now, never did Ogre series.

On swords with souls, you ain't seen shit yet. Wait until I cut loose with the Relic Mages.

C0dy88: "I was starting to wonder when they'd start a proper grave yard."

**REPLY**: The way things are leaning, there will be more of a need for it in this revision.

Knives 91: "Don't tell me that! That glorious man is alive! ALIVE I TELL YOU!

Anyway, I was referencing the German WWII tank, the Tiger. Tigers driving Tigers, as it were. Tigerception, as those modern day jokers might put it.

Given recent losses, exactly what size force can Sigma actually afford to field at this point? Too many and they'll start compromising their ability to hold the base.

Great chapter, as they always are! Hope real life doesn't keep you down too hard!"

**REPLY**: Nope, he isn't. Sorry, dude.

Tigerception? LOL! TANK RUSH KEKEKEKE! (Sorry, couldn't resist.)

As of the end of chapter five, the total forces were below a full platoon, not counting the Militia. With the Militia, not quite up to a Company.

**THANK YOU ALL FOR THE FEEDBACK ON THE LAST RUN**! I intend to put it all to good use this time around, and hopefully do way better.

* * *

><p><strong>The Gripe Sheet<strong>:

No gripes, yet. Thanks to **Sieben Nightwing**, **Takeshi Yamato**, **Necroblade**, and **One-Village-Idiot** for doing the beta work on this!

* * *

><p><strong>Footnotes<strong>:

(1): **S**ervice **L**evel **A**greement, an agreement that problems shall be resolved inside a specified timeframe or contract penalties would be executed.

(2): **Ten-Four** (or written **10-4**) is the most recognized of the Ten Codes for radio communication. Roughly translates to 'yes' or 'acknowledged' depending on context of the answer.

(3): **Twenty** in this case refers to the radio code **10-20**, which is a request for location.

(4): **Varget** is a brand of gunpowder manufactured by Hodgdon, commonly used in high-speed rifle applications.

(5): **Foxtrot Oscar** is the NATO phonetic code for **FO**, which is a common abbreviation for 'fuck off'.

* * *

><p><strong>Included Works<strong>: This is a listing of the various works I have included so far. As things go on, this list WILL expand.

—Real Life Armaments — too many to name, that is most of the arsenal shown.  
>—Real Life Combat Gear — the vests and gear carried by the Militia troops are easily constructible from stuff you can buy on Amazon or Cheaper Than Dirt. No, Seriously, Look it up. Do a search for "UTG Modular 10-Piece Complete Kit", and you have a good look at a starter kit for any serious gearhound.<br>—Real Life Concepts

—Personal Works: The Star Empires are mentioned briefly here. Additionally, the Magi Empire is named specifically.  
>—Personal Works: The 10mm Kurz cartridge is a shortened  lower velocity / lower weight version of the 10mm BG round, developed by the Magi for 'crowd pleasing' against large masses of Negaverse troops, most of which were unarmored during the Star Empire Wars. It quickly became a favored heavy machine gun round for multiple purposes after the fact.

—Anime General: the oddball hair colors  
>—Anime General and D&amp;D: the nonspecific concept of Elves, Nymphs, and Sylphs.<p>

—Game: Infantry Online (Sony Online Entertainment): The CAW from the early section, and named in the stinger, is a different-manufacturer version of the Kuchler A6 CAW.

—Movie: Speed: A bit of a subversion here, but the whole 'shoot the hostage' thing is derived from that movie. Only, in this case, nobody does shoot the hostage, so...


	2. Crazy Train, Crazier Plan

(Sigma Mercenaries Chronicles, Story 0001, Chapter 02: Crazy Train, Crazier Plan)  
>(Interdimensional Jumper Train 523)<p>

(_Reminder: Previous chapter ended on Car 61_)

Car 62 (Seats, 1 Level) (0909)  
><span>Car 63 (Seats, 1 Level) (0911)<span>  
><span>Car 64 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (0913) (evacuated 25 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 65 (Baths, Gender Split) (0916)<span>  
><span>Car 66 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (0918)<span>  
><span>Car 67 (Baths, Gender Split) (0920)<span>  
><span>Car 68 (House, 1 Level) (0922)<span>  
><span>Car 69 (Lounge Car) (0924) (evacuated 19 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 70 (Seats, 2 Level) (0927)<span>  
><span>Car 71 (Seats, 2 Level) (0929)<span>

Once the second door latched open to allow access to the 71 car, Victoria darted into the room and immediately went right to check the near corner. No threat, no problem. Hess went left, cleared the left corner (again, no threat, no problem), and aimed up the nearby stairs to the second deck while Clarence moved forward to do a seat-by seat check. Clarence made it to the far end of the car, where he stopped and aimed up the far end stairs to the second deck. Scarlet and Andrea moved forward to render assistance to Clarence, since Scarlet still had the SOCOM II rifle and Andrea had recovered a functional Gewehr '43 from the prior lounge car.

After the bottom was cleared, Hess turned to face up the top stairs and ready for it. Clint gave Hess a shoulder squeeze, a signal to move, since Victoria had signaled Clint to move. Hess immediately started up the stairs, bayonet and muzzle leading the way so he could defend himself if needed. At the top, the landing spread out into another two rows of seats; Erich immediately ran across the landing to take his position at the right-hand side. Clint was second up and took the customary left side, with Victoria up the middle to do the seat-by-seat.

The lady made it a whopping two seats down the aisle before a gun discharged, though the shot was something that Hess had only ever heard at the range: a flintlock musket. Belying their notorious inaccuracy, the shot passed between Victoria and Hess, fired from the starboard side of the seat rows, by a lady that was trying to remain covered as much as possible. "VIC! DOWN!" Hess shouted as he caught sight of the shooter and at least two more.

Against the lady with the musket, Hess fired a single shot at the back of the seat where she was covering, and his custom-load .303 British munitions did as designed. The round punched through the back of the cheap metro-liner seat readily, bridged the air gap between seat and tango, and struck her traveling sideways at over 1400 FPS. It did not penetrate more than two inches into the lady, but two inches was more than enough to bust through her sternum and stop inside her trachea. By the time her rifle went vertical and started skidding toward the center aisle, Hess already had the bolt back on his rifle and headed forward to load a new custom-load 180-grain soft point into the chamber (1).

With the return shot, the remaining enemy began moving and bringing weapons to bear. In the port-side seats, Clint took sight on a lady with some kind of double-barreled shotgun and dropped three rounds into her, at the stupidly easy range of thirty feet he had no trouble hitting her three rounds rapid. The first one struck her left arm, the second caught her in the left thigh, and the third was the money shot, dead center in the chest. She was already on the way down to the ground from the leg shot, but the third hit ensured she would not be getting up from the ground for the rest of her life.

A medium-size lady brought a large-frame pistol up to bear against Clint and rattled off a pair of shots, with both shots well above him and one even into the light fixture above the stairs. Hess quickly retargeted, centered, and hammered her slightly low in the chest with a single round. Given the munitions he was using, the entry wound was somewhere between the size of a nickel and a quarter, but the exit wound was more on the order of a baseball and left a bloody mess on the seat behind her.

"SHIT!" Clint shouted as he dove for sanctuary behind the metro-liner seats when the fourth lady targeted him. It was a prescient call, as part of the buckshot pattern clipped the seat where he was standing, the remainder of the shot passed through the airspace he had previously occupied. At the same time she racked the slide on the Mossberg 500 Cruiser shotgun, she tried swinging over to take a shot at Hess, but never made it to target before Victoria shredded her brain with one well-placed shot of 5.56mm M855 penetrator. The slug entered the skull just behind the right temple, partially fragmented on the way through, though the largest chunk of the round exited the left rear of the head. Some detritus went with the slug, but not enough to create the common Hollywood head-shred effect.

"I'm up!" Victoria shouted as she stood and took aim down the length of the remainder of the car.

"Hold there and maintain watch," Hess ordered as he stepped out into the aisle. Once in position, he started walking forward with his rifle aimed forward, ready to sweep left or right and engage further threats. He reached the far side landing for the stairs with no further encounters, a good sign as far as he was concerned. "Top clear! Four tangos down, zero friendly casualties!" He shouted.

"Bottom clear!"

Erich waved Victoria and Clint forward to where the four downed ladies had set their ambush. "Check this shit out, boss," Clint said after he pulled a revolver out of the bodice worn by the first lady shot. "King Cobra, .357 Magnum. Nice hardware, and six live ones in the wheel."

"Probably figured on firing her musket, then switch over to the revolver rather than reload that old war-horse," Victoria said, looking at the flintlock weapon. "Markings are in French, if I don't miss my guess."

"I'm more interested in this monster," Clint lifted the double-barrel shotgun and braced it on one of the seats. "Ever seen any shit like this?"

"Not at all," Hess answered truthfully. "That's some heavy-duty shit."

Clint dropped the magazine out of the rather large shotgun, and pointed the business end of the magazine at Hess. "10-gauge 3 1/2" shells, sir. Way the hell better than the Remington 870s we use for entry."

"So keep it," Hess told him. "The worst the ATF can do is take it away from you, hell, chances are they may let you keep it after you tell them it was recovered from a wench that planned to cap you off. Hell, I say part out all their weapons to the trailers, Let the Slavers try their worst against a group of armed persons led by four Kentucky Militiamen, see how far they get on that."

Car 72 (Seats, 2 Level) (0933)  
><span>Car 73 (Seats, 1 Level) (0935)<span>  
><span>Car 74 (Seats, 1 Level) (0937)<span>  
><span>Car 75 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 Rooms) (0939) (Evacuated 5 Delta Mafia, 4 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 76 (Bathrooms, Individual Rooms) (0941)<span>  
><span>Car 77 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (0943) (Evacuated 2 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 78 (Bathrooms, Gender Split) (0945)<span>  
><span>Car 79 (House, 2 level) (0946)<span>

Clint signaled a stop partway into the House Car that they were working on clearing. The upstairs team continued their trudge onward, sweeping to clear in the usual fashion but with four persons (Clarence and Victoria plus two others).

"Report," Hess said curtly.

"A piece of hardware worth talking about, sir," Clint said as he lifted the rifle.

"Typical black rifle, point being?" Hess asked.

"Suppressor and full-auto lower," Clint handed it over to Hess.

"Hell yes, a rifle with the pew-pew-pew switch," Erich said with a smile. "The can, well, I could take it or leave it, but this lower…" He kicked the magazine out, pulled the bolt to check for brass, then did a quick field-strip to check the barrel for flaws. Once satisfied, he reassembled the rifle, a process that took him roughly two minutes total.

"Keep it, boss. Not like anyone is claiming it right now," Clint nudged him.

"Nah. I like my one-banger AR-15, and I already have a full arsenal." he turned around to face his 'shadow' as he had begun to think of Toni. "You said you've got some time on rifles. Been behind the trigger on full-autos?"

"It is an education requirement for where I was born, ability to identify and use any common weapon type," Toni said. "I'm nowhere near your level of use and lethality, but I think I can hold my own."

"That's a bitchin' education system, if they teach people how to handle firearms properly," Clint said.

"I'll reserve judgment until after I see the rest of their curriculum," Hess answered. "If you want in, here's your dance," he offered the rifle to Toni.

"I think I'd like that quite a bit, but I do hope there's another dance card available down the line," she said with a smile at the same time she received the rifle. True to her prior claim, she played by the common safety rules: her muzzle never crossed any of her team, her finger was off the trigger, and she verified loaded by pulling back on the bolt to check for brass in the chamber the same way Hess had. With an empty chamber and a full magazine under the bolt, she drew the bolt all the way back and released it to load a cartridge.

"All right, Toni. You're on my ass pretty much solid, now you have a reason for it. Where I go, you go. If I enter an area and go right, you enter and go left. Sweep the corners and walls from your initial direction toward the center. If they have a weapon but are not at present weapon, demand compliance. If they have gun up or are raising it, drill them several times and move on. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Clint, resume search. Toni, make sure you are paying attention to how we search, how we move. You learn by study and practice on these matters."

Car 80 (Dining Car) (0952)  
><span>Car 81 (Seats, 1 Level) (0954)<span>  
><span>Car 82 (Seats, 2 Level) (0956)<span>  
><span>Car 83 (Seats, 2 Level) (0958) (evacuated 1 civilian)<span>  
><span>Car 84 (Seats, 2 Level) (1000) (evacuated 1 civilian)<span>  
><span>Car 85 (Seats, 1 Level) (1002)<span>

"The fuck is this?" Clint asked after he entered the car and took his customary right-side position. Victoria was second in, with Hess the third, but rather than advance down the center aisle in the usual deliberate search method, he ducked left with Victoria and was quickly followed by his 'shadow' while Quintin and Scarlet went right to augment Clint.

"Mexican standoff?" Victoria asked as her husband began waving the trailers out of the center of the aisle to prevent an easy shot from the enemies. At this point, the 'tail' of the evacuation party extended back some two cars, so effecting getting clear took several seconds.

"Deltas on the far side, Bravos in the center, and us," Clint said.

"You want to try to parley?" Victoria asked Hess.

"They way they are staring daggers at each other, no, not really," Erich answered calmly. Inwardly he was far from calm, given he was staring down a potentially very lethal scenario.

The party started on the far side of the car, with a Delta guy hammering an absolutely massive lady with some kind of magazine-fed Light Machine Gun, five rounds of eight chewed her torso several new holes. The shots were angled to hit the wall somewhere between the Militia lines and the Bravos, so no blow-through double-kill points for the enemy gunner.

Scarlet targeted and fired on the Delta LMG gunner, one chest shot from the far side of the car caused him to go down in a screaming heap. Quintin followed up on the guy standing next to the now-downed LMG gunner, though his aim was a bit low and resulted in a man clutching his intestines that had been violated by a 7.92mm Mauser slug. Quintin had been carrying the Gewehr '43 for a few cars now, the same rifle that had initially been picked up by Andrea, but she turned it over to Quintin since he was purportedly the better rifle shot.

Another of the Deltas fired on the Bravos, this time aiming for the Bravos' own light machine gun. A chest and gut full of buckshot put her down fast, the Minimi-clone LMG went unfired for the battle, and the shooter on the far side of the car racked his slide to do the next target. Hess put an end to the shotgunner with a thigh hit that possibly struck the interior femoral artery on his left leg, but at the minimum crippled the tango. A fast run on the bolt and he came up on the second target, a guy with a pistol in the distance; the 180-grain round hammered into the upper arm of the enemy and caused him to lose the pistol and use of that arm. Another bolt run and he was back up, the last guy trying to sight in on Clint's position, so Hess loosed a round that struck right of center and dropped him hard with a large blood splat on the far wall of the train. His last bolt run and he came back up, this time on the guy he wounded on his second shot, who was poorly trying to fire a Walther P22 with his off-hand at the Bravos. Hess fired again, and this time what his rifle started on the right arm, his second shot finished by shattering the Humerus and knocked the enemy unconscious by pure shock.

The sudden death of the Deltas caused the Bravos to realize they were not alone. Hess ended up facing down a teen with a Karabiner '98 some four seats dead ahead of him, which was likely an easy shot for both rifles and the persons behind the triggers. Thankfully, at least someone on the far side was a little less aggressive about the matter, and she raised her assault rifle above her head in something of a hold / neutral gesture. As the other Bravos stood down, so did Hess and the rest of his team.

"Who fired those shots?" the lady with the assault rifle asked.

"He did," Toni jerked her thumb at Hess.

"Four shots in five seconds, big guy? Where did you learn that?" she asked.

"Home-grown skill," Erich answered curtly. "You Bravo Mafia?"

"Yeah. You trying to get off this train?" she asked in counter.

"Trying, mostly trying to survive and stop the train," Erich admitted the size of the situation.

"You get us somewhere safe, I'll have your kids," she said almost nonchalantly.

Hess gagged on that thought. "Not exactly the kind of repayment I am looking for when rescuing people," he said to try to put an end to that line of thinking. "Still, if you want off the train, fold into the tail. I'll do what I can on the far side," he said as he waved them toward the refugee trail behind the entry group.

"This a good idea, Sarge?" Victoria questioned.

"I don't know for sure," Erich answered as he watched the six surviving ladies pass. "There is so much wrong with this to begin with, and all I can do is wild-ass guess at what is the right thing to do from minute to minute."

"Fucked up environment, fucked up decision tree," Clint put short words to the long train of thought in Hess' mind.

"Exactly. Here's to hoping we get some kind of idea what is right and wrong going forward, sometime between here and the engines."

"I'd drink to that, if we weren't on duty," Clarence said.

"All right, salvage the dead for weapons or ammo," Hess ordered of his short combat group, those persons who were willing to fight for the cause.

Car 86 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1009)  
><span>Car 87 (Bathroom, Individual Stalls (20)) (1011)<span>  
><span>Car 88 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1013) (evacuated 23 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 89 (Bathroom, Individual Stalls (20)) (1016)<span>  
><span>Car 90 (House Car, 2 Level) (1018)<span>  
><span>Car 91 (Lounge Car) (1020)<span>  
><span>Car 92 (Seats, 2 Level) (1022) (evacuated 1 civilian)<span>  
><span>Car 93 (Seats, 1 Level) (1024)<span>  
><span>Car 94 (Seats, 2 Level) (1026)<span>  
><span>Car 95 (Seats, 2 Level) (1028) (evacuated 5 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 96 (Seats, 2 Level) (1030) (evacuated 13 Bravo Mafia, 8 Charlie Mafia, 14 Delta Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 97 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (1034)<span>  
><span>Car 98 (Bathrooms, Individual rooms (14)) (1036)<span>

"The more I see of this train, the more I am convinced someone had a sense of humor when they designed this thing. I mean, five seat cars, sleeper, bathrooms, sleeper, bathrooms, a house car, and either a diner or a lounge — next one should be a diner by the numbers, if I don't miss my guess."

"Not going to take that bet," Clarence answered the monologue from Clint.

"What do you think, Sarge?" Clint tried salvaging his position by consensus.

"I think I was assigned team lead, I don't know who assigned me as a Sergeant," Hess said. "Feels kind of weird, framing it in that fashion, you know?"

"This whole thing feels weird," Clint groused.

"Something is wrong here," Toni said. "It feels like…"

"There's a presence in one of these rooms," Cynthia Williams said from behind Toni. "There," she pointed most of the way down the car.

"The hell? Are we now characters in some supernatural thriller?" Clarence asked.

"I don't know what exactly we are in, but it's not pretty," Hess said. "Is this presence friendly or enemy?" Hess deliberately did not ask 'good or bad', given that one definition of alignment was already skewed on the person he was asking.

"I don't know, I can't tell what it is supposed to be," Cynthia said. "All I know is it is there."

"It feels...massive, but almost neutral," Toni said.

"Two?" Victoria asked, looking between Cynthia and Toni.

"Leave it be, Victoria. Forewarned is initiative. We will discuss special talents at a later time," Hess said, using the old science-fiction lexicon for psionics to defuse the situation. "Advance slow, cover left."

_I could use some help_, a man's voice echoed in Hess' head. _I am the presence the ladies are sensing — they should be able to hear me as well_.

"Team hold here," Hess said immediately. A nudge from Toni told the rump Sergeant that she had heard as well. _Listening_, he thought loudly, hoping that the guy heard the thought.

_I am in the third to last bathroom with a lady standing over me. The lady is holding me hostage, on the premise that my superiors will not come for me if they think I could walk away alive. If I open the door suddenly, can you cap the slaver?_

_Will do_, Hess answered immediately but only by thought. "Clint, advance to final bathroom and break out your medkit. I think I could use another round of Excedrin, my right ankle is starting to bugger me."

"It's all that ass you kick from day to day, getting the system users back in line and motivating them to do it right," Clint answered. He did as ordered, moved forward to the last bathroom and stopped.

Hess stopped at an angle he figured he had easy visibility to most of the area where someone would be standing in the bathroom. He did a quick brass-check on his Enfield, shouldered the rifle, and brought it up to aimpoint. "Hit me," he said loud enough that it would be audible inside the room.

After a few seconds, the door latch violently separated from the door as the rest of the portal was flung open. It was clearly unexpected by the lady in the room, who dropped the knife she was holding to the hostage and went for a holstered pistol on her waist. In the battle of reaction speed, Hess won handily with a chest-shot that caused her to collapse onto the toilet, but was clearly not dead yet.

"The hell?" Clarence asked, seeing the lady try to pull her pistol while Hess ran his bolt. Rather than take a gamble on the Sergeant or the hostage, Clarence brought his M1 Garand up and fired two shots center-mass into her. The first didn't stop her, the second one did. "Jesus, is she wearing body armor?"

"Looks like a plate carrier," Hess said.

"Is she dead?"

"Not yet!" the lady half-shouted, though her attempt at returning the favor stalled when her pistol failed to unlatch from her holster properly. Hess figured she was using a Level III retention holster, and one of the retainers was not releasing at the weird angle she was trying to pull the weapon...

"FUCK!" Clarence shouted as he brought his rifle up and emptied the rest of his clip (2) into her chest, even trying to fire several times after the distinct 'ping' sound of the Garand en-bloc clip being ejected from the magazine. Hess joined the effort with another round from his Enfield partway through Clarence's burst. This time, her body went limp and slid off the toilet, where it landed in between the toilet and the bathtub.

"What the fuck! We put ten rounds into her from less than five yards!" Victoria shouted.

"Damn Level IV armor plates (3)," Erich commented. "You alright?" he shouted at the hostage, since the muzzle blast of firing that many rounds would likely deafen him.

"My hearing is intact, no need to shout," the hostage answered. "I covered my ears at the last second." Hess guessed the guy at around 6'2", somewhere near 200 pounds, extremely fit with brown eyes and black hair. Nothing particularly special about the guy, but the Militiaman figured the major point was inside his head, not physical.

"That's not going to be something I forget any time soon," Clarence said, waving a finger at the slaver. "So who's the guy? And why not just throw you in as a sex slave?"

"Me?" the guy said as he exited the room. "If they put me in with the sex slaves, that would be game over for them. They wanted me away from the slaves but alive to deter my comrades."

"To prevent the cavalry coming in to eliminate the threat and rescue the slaves," Hess guessed (not incorrectly). "Okay, if you're here, what's the game? And who are you with?" the Militiaman asked bluntly, as he could identify some brass on his uniform but not what it stood for.

"Name's Nereus. I can give you a full run-down, but I know there is a dining car about four ahead if you want appropriate seating as well. Explanation might take a few," he said.

"Nereus," Erich said, then nodded twice. "All right, but an explanation would be welcomed. Fold in with Toni, won't take long to get to that dining car."

"Got it. And thank you for the rescue, man. I wasn't expecting to survive this train ride."

"Welcomed, but I recommend you hold off thanking me until we actually do survive." The Militiaman looked forward. "Clint, lead off."

"_Hai, sensei_," Clint said facetiously. "We're getting all manner of weird shit now, kids," he grumped on his way forward to the door.

Car 99 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1040) (evacuated 20 civilians)  
><span>Car 100 (Baths, Individual Rooms (14)) (1042) (evacuated 3 Delta Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 101 (House Car, 2 levels) (1044) (evacuated 2 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 102 (Storage Car) (1046)<span>

"Isn't this supposed to be a diner car?" Clint asked as they entered the room. It was mostly empty, except for some equipment against the port-side wall. "This gear looks like those pocket-dimension food dispensers in the dining cars, though."

"Different system, similar purpose," Nereus said. "I must have lost track of my car position in absolute terms. Yes, the cars loop on a 10-car cycle, five seats, sleeper, bath, sleeper, bath, house, then alternating lounge and dining for the eleventh. I keep forgetting every hundred cars should be this, a storage system car. Or maybe they have a different loop logic, I don't remember exactly."

"Sounds like some bureaucracy is involved somewhere in this decision process," Victoria said. The trailers were filing into the car at a pretty good pace, with the Militia and his 'unofficial group' close in to Nereus, while he paced in a small loop in front of the storage machines. "So, which is it? You part of that machine, or you trying to fix that machine?"

"The answer to both of those questions is 'yes'. I am part of the organization that rebuilt and repurposed these trains, but I am part of a rather rebellious chunk of that organization that stood against these Trains to begin with, and now we're trying to clean up the mess."

"Rebellious Star League personnel?" Toni asked for clarification. Nereus nodded confirmation. "Wait — Nereus! Nereus the Paladin of the Deep Blue?" Toni asked in clear shock.

"You know him? Or know of him?" Clint asked the lady with the fire-red hair.

"It is a bunch of puzzle pieces that suddenly fit together," Toni said. "Rebellious Star League Personnel. Railed against the recommissioning of the Trains. Trying to fix the problems. Nereus is a very uncommon name, that matches only one notable person in the Star League. High Executor Nereus of the Dynasty, Paladin of the Deep Blue."

Hess nodded three times. "Gauging by your reaction, that's some horsepower, but if you'll excuse my being an American, never heard the title."

"Yeah, I expect that," Nereus noted. "Not many Americans would allow their government to join the clusterfuck that is the Star League, and I can't say I blame them. One world government sucks dicks, scaling it up to interdimensional levels did not improve the matter."

"Ouch," Clint groused. "That must blow the monkey."

"You said you were here to correct the problem, sir?" Toni asked.

"I was here to gather evidence that a problem does exist. The Star League Grand Council will not admit fault; my commanding officer wants me to document the issues on the train and send them to the head of one of the Member States, who can pressure the Grand Council into un-fucking this problem," Nereus said.

Hess shook his head negative. "You're not convinced this is going to work."

"That obvious?" Nereus asked the Militiaman.

"I am an analyst by trade. Understanding things is my job, and your tone tells me that you think this is going to implode."

Nereus sighed. "I can get the evidence, and I can get it to the necessary party to press the issue, but I doubt the Grand Council will ever admit fault."

Erich nodded twice. "Typical government. Find pooch, screw it, claim results. If they're not going to fix the problem, take them out of the equation."

That declaration caused Nereus to stop in his tracks and stare at Hess. "Suggestions?"

The Militiaman snorted. "Was thinking in terms of operational concepts. I don't know enough to know where to begin."

The Executor resumed his pacing, muttering to himself in the process, but it didn't last long. After four more short loops, he stopped, slapped his forehead with the palm of his right hand, and groaned loudly. "Genius," he said, pointing to Hess. "I think I may have an idea or two, and kill off several problems at once. I'll need to talk this over with some of my bosses, though, it's pretty deep."

"Huh?" Hess groused.

"Mind if I embed myself into your group for now? I still need the evidence, but I think I may know a way to make it work. Are you guys headed for the engines?"

"Yes, we want to get this train back to where we got on, so we can clear it out," Clarence pointed out fairly.

"Ugh, not good," Nereus said.

"Not good? You mean, it can't be done?" Victoria asked.

"It can be done, but not by the Train, not randomly at least," Executor Nereus pointed out. "These machines jump by way of the interdimensional path of least resistance, you have far better odds dancing with lightning than you do getting this train to stop in the same dimension you came from."

"I had that feeling," Clint snapped at Hess. "Much thank you, big guy, we're on a one-way rodeo with dick 'n' doughnuts waiting for us at the finish line. See you on the far side of the tombstone, Sarge."

"Don't get your panties in a wad just yet, scrawny one," Hess snapped back. "I get the feeling the Executor may already know a way out of this problem," the Militiaman prompted the Executor indirectly.

"I can think of a dozen ways to get you home offhand," Nereus said. "The problem is, all of them require capital and personnel that are not available at this time."

Before any of the persons could say something, Clarence started chuckling. It progressed to full-blown laughter after about twenty seconds, but stopped shortly thereafter. "Better and better! Start a quest to save lives and kick asses, told by a random guy that the only way home is to pay our way home, now we go questing for the means to head home! It's like some perverse role-playing game made reality and dropped on us brick-wall-first!"

"Sounds about right, and that would be the rough measure of our luck on these things," Hess said with a smile. "Of course, I did give you guys a couple opportunities to duck out, so we're in this mad quest together. I'm just hoping this doesn't balloon into something unmanageable."

"You all worry too much," Victoria chided them. "Shut up and let the man come up with a clean way to get us back home, while we help him correct the problem here."

"Yes ma'am," Erich, Clint and Clarence replied by rote.

"Okay, you need evidence. We need a way home. They need a safe haven off the Trains," Hess jerked his thumb over his shoulder, referring to the 'tail' he was accumulating. "If I help you prosecute your case, are you willing to help me structure a solution?"

"Mister, you have a deal," Executor Nereus said.

"Yeah," Clint looked back over the tail. "For the record, ladies and gentlemen, the big guy is the one working on the solution. I'll help, but I ain't claiming it, win or lose," he said to distance himself from what he anticipated was going to become a clusterfuck of the highest order. His effort at distance would pay off, much to his detriment.

Car 103 (Seats, 1 Level) (1058)  
><span>Car 104 (Seats, 1 Level) (1100)<span>  
><span>Car 105 (Seats, 2 Level) (1102)<span>  
><span>Car 106 (Seats, 1 Level) (1104)<span>  
><span>Car 107 (Seats, 2 Level) (1106)<span>

"So there are slightly less than a hundred more cars to go?" Clint asked Nereus as he entered the next car. "Nice, we may just survive this shit yet."

A pistol came up on the far side of the car. "Sorry, kid, you're luck's run out," the Delta Mafiosi behind the trigger declared. One round from the revolver went high, the second round did not. Clint took the hit in his right forearm, which staggered him but not to the point of slowing down his movement into the car.

Hess checked his corner quickly, thankful that the second deck of seats had the stairs in the center of the car, not on the ends as was normal. With a clear left, he centered forward and began tracking on the major tangos of the enemy group — if one Delta was firing on the team, he had plenty of reason to suspect the whole cluster. The shooter he immediately serviced with a single rifle round, a single strike to the right shoulder dropped her down below the level of the seats quickly enough. Still, the view was grim enough — one down, ten more to go.

Clarence entered the room next, and in the process he rammed Clint down into a corner deliberately to knock him out of the line of fire with a nonfunctional right arm. Once steadied from the ramming hit, he brought the Garand up and rattled off eight rounds in three seconds, with seven hits on three of the Mafiosi. His quick thinking and trigger finger took a shotgun, a Desert Eagle, and a heavy-frame automatic out of the game.

Victoria made the last fast entry, her scoped AR-15 up and on target of another lady Delta with a shotgun before it could be brought to bear on the entry team. Four hits, left leg, center stomach, right chest, and right arm put her down for the count. "HESS! Frag 'em!"

"FUCK!" Clarence shouted as he caught sight of a large teen Delta aiming a large revolver in his direction. The attempted dolphin-dive down below cover was after the shot, but the shot missed by default — it struck the back of one of the metro-liner seats two rows in front of Clint.

Erich loosed the Enfield rifle from his right hand and shoulder so it was only held in his left, pulled the straggler Baseball Grenade he had picked up, and slid the spoon clip off with his right thumb. He reached across, pulled the pin with his left middle finger, and extended the pull motion all the way to the right for a wind-up. Two or three rounds from a Luger P08 hammered into the seat directly in front of him, but none penetrated. "FRAG OUT!" Hess shouted before he loosed the grenade in a massive sidearm toss that caused it to bounce off the port-side wall and roll over to the starboard-side seats.

"GRENADE!" someone in the enemy lines shouted as Hess dropped straight down to cover behind the seats in the hopes that the fragmentation didn't bounce its way back to him.

For a moment, Hess had to wonder if the grenade he had just thrown was a dud, but the impressive pressure wave that shoved through him after the detonation pretty much belied that thought immediately. Another few seconds, and Hess could tell that he wasn't wearing any fragmentation from the blast — a good thing, considering the confines. A quick check of the battlescape showed only one person standing but heavily disoriented, and one person that was still alive but had collapsed onto the bench seat in front.

"Damn good throw! You got four!" Scarlet shouted as she came forward from the prior car with the massive Kuchler LMG. Hess likened said light machine gun to an improved version of the venerable BAR, with improved magazine feed, double rounds per mag over the BAR, polymer and aluminum construction, and the same lovable 30.06 cartridge that could tear chunks out of most anything shot with it. Four rounds downrange, two hits (left arm, left chest), the one standing lady with the Luger was standing no more.

Clarence had the last guy, the teen with the large revolver, with a single round from his Garand to the side of the armed teen's head. One shot, the body slid down the far side of the seat and appeared to be a non-threat any more.

"Sweep it by the numbers, people," Hess ordered. "Clint, talk to me," he continued after a moment.

"My right arm is wildly fucked," Clint said. "Got my radius, through and through. I've stopped the bleeding, but unless I get to a surgeon soon my gunslinging days are over."

"I can do one better, if you're willing to do alternative healing skills," Nereus said as he entered the car.

"Mister Executor, if you had a magic snake that healed broken bones with its bite, I'd take that chance right now," Clint said.

"Well, I do have a magic snake, but it doesn't bite," Nereus said. "Hold your arm up level."

"Ready, do it," Clint said warily.

Clint groaned and clenched his teeth whence the Executor wrapped his hands around the injury, but said nothing nor shouted in pain. "_**Holy order of the Ocean Sword, channel unseen light and heal these wounds thus laid hands upon**_,"Nereus chanted calmly. After a moment of pause, the whole arm began glowing aqua blue and Clint yelped once, though the effect did not last long. "Done."

"Holy shit, dude, how the hell did you do that?" Clint said, working his arm around in a couple fashions to test it. "Damn, muscles are still a bit tender."

"That is typical. Freshly regenerated damage like that is not completely and immediately back to normal. You'll want to work it in, slowly," Nereus suggested. "When Toni called me 'Paladin of the Deep Blue', she wasn't joking. I really am a Paladin, only promoted way above just that lofty job title. And that includes being able to use the Laying On Hands skillset to heal minor or moderate wounds."

"Think you're up to re-asuming point?" Hess asked. The other persons had finished clearing the car, and were escorting back some more persons to add to the tail.

"I think I've got it," Clint answered after considering the condition of his arm.

Car 108 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1108)  
><span>Car 109 (Bathrooms, Individual Rooms (14)) (1110)<span>  
><span>Car 110 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1112)<span>  
><span>Car 111 (Bathrooms, Enclosed Stalls (20)) (1114)<span>  
><span>Car 112 (House Car, 1 level) (1116)<span>  
><span>Car 113 (Dining Car) (1118)<span>  
><span>Car 114 (Seats, 2 Level) (1120) (evacuated 14 Bravo Mafia)<span>

"What do you think, Sarge?" Clint asked as Erich took up station next to him on the right side of the car.

"Bit less marshmallow than earlier, but looks legit," Hess said, again as a caution to the rest of the team to be on guard but not look like they were on guard. Of this group of fourteen, Hess figured the average bust size amongst the ladies was somewhere less than the American national average, which homeland average bust size was already below what he was routinely seeing on the Train so far.

"Four American heroes, no? I told you, Meia, they were coming and they are doing the job," an older lady said to what Hess guessed was a late-teens lady.

"Never doubted you." The teen speaker (Hess guessed her in the neighborhood of 19) lowered her M-14 rifle to the same sling-ready position that the Militiamen were using. "I owe you seven hugs, one for each dead slaver so far. Who collects?"

"You can thank me later, after we've finished killing them all and stopped the train," Clint said. "We clear to move up?"

"I'd welcome it," she said with an inviting smile.

"Looks legit," Hess said with a nod, as a reminder warning to his troops.

"Got it," Clarence said as he moved forward with weapons at ready arms.

"Hess, Claiborne County Militia," Erich offered a hand to shake with the late-teens lady.

"Meia, Bravo Mafia," The lady took the shake, and went a step further by pulling the Militiaman in to a significant hug. "Not many will say it, but thank you. You've done a lot to depopulate a scourge in Existence, but where there is one, a thousand still stand."

"Kill one, kill them all," Clint pointed out his opinion on the matter.

"What's your involvement, young one?" Victoria asked.

"Was a high school freshman when I was abducted. I got free, dodged the Slavers, and have been learning how to defend myself since."

"Was," Clint pointed out. "Damn, getting yanked like that," he groused.

"Not yanked, stuffed. Two guys, three guys, four, more, and that before I was supposed to be sold off. I don't know what they did to you, but we consider them terrorists."

"Hell yeah! Kill 'em all!" an early-thirties lady shouted.

"Working on that," Victoria said.

"What do you think? Got some room for some battered women in your entourage?" a separate thirty-something lady asked.

"File in," Hess said as he stepped aside.

After the bulk of the group passed by, Clint pointed out something that was becoming painfully obvious to the Militiamen. "You have some kind of plan, eh?"

"I may be assembling one," Hess said with a smile. "Looks like you may have a bidding war going on for some ladies to be your girlfriend."

"_Moi_?" Clint said in a mock French accent. "I'm not the one running this party."

"Sure, keep playing innocent," Erich said with a knowing smile. "Let's get moving."

Car 115 (Seats, 2 Level) (1124)  
><span>Car 116 (Seats, 2 Level) (1126)<span>  
><span>Car 117 (Seats, 2 Level) (1128)<span>  
><span>Car 118 (Seats, 1 Level) (1130)<span>  
><span>Car 119 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 Rooms) (1132)<span>

"Clarence," Hess prompted after he entered the car and went left after Clint took the right.

"Yeah, boss?" said Militiaman responded.

"Present for you." Hess relayed a rifle back to Clarence that he had found leaning against the toilet at the near-end of the sleeper car..

"Oh yeah, I touched a rifle and I jizzed in my pants," Clarence said. "Springfield 1903A3-pattern Sniper mod. Fucking awesome, this completes my collection of WW2 guns. Best. Christmas. Present. Ever."

"It's only June, dickhead," Clint said with clear humor to voice.

"Pack the woody away, honey, not a good place for that," Victoria said. She had moved past her husband and Hess, to the corner of the sleeper rooms so she could inspect the area. "Hall clear."

"Roger, move it up," Hess ordered. "Okay, Meia, pop quiz time," he said to his new shadow.

"Hit me," she answered as the group advanced slowly down the hall, two primary guns forward, two guns facing left into the sleeper rooms.

"This train is saturated with three groups of Mafioso. Bravos, Charlies, Deltas. What's the gig here?" Hess asked.

"It's a defense mechanism. The Bravos are ladies that escaped the Slavers, or girl children born on the train. We cluster together, because the Slavers won't attack a group of ten or fifteen Mafiosi, they would have to kill us all or chance dying themselves to take a few very resistant slaves."

"Charlies and Deltas?" Hess asked.

"Same thing with the Charlie Mafiosi, but all children or early teens. They may get one or two viable slaves, but they also run a very nasty risk of dying. The Deltas and Alphas are more along the lines of revenge operations, since a self-respecting Slaver would not deliberately try to get just a couple guys for sale. Resale value would be low for how much effort they would need."

"Points for business sense," Hess admitted. "If I can take the Slavers out of the equation, would the Mafias be willing to fold into a normal society?"

"You take the Slavers out of the equation, I'll marry you," Meia said. "I've lost four years and any shred of innocence I thought I had to them. I want to see them dead, fled, or burning."

"Not the first time I've been offered that, today," Erich said. "Not the kind of ride through life I'm looking for, though much obliged for the offer. Clint, do your thang," the Sergeant pointed to the door to the next car.

Car 120 (Bathrooms, Individual Rooms (14)) (1134)  
><span>Car 121 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1136) (evacuated 9 civilians, 4 Delta Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 122 (Bathrooms, Individual Stalls (20)) (1138)<span>  
><span>Car 123 (House Car, 1 Level) (1140)<span>  
><span>Car 124 (Lounge Car) (1142) (evacuated 20 civilians, 17 Bravo Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 125 (Seats, 2 Level) (1144) (evacuated 1 civilian)<span>

"You DAMN SLAVER! WHERE IS MY BROTHER?" Someone shrieked in the next room.

"Move," Hess ordered. Clint, Victoria, Erich, then Clarence entered, with the latter two headed down the aisle for the deliberate search.

Finding the source of the shriek was not difficult. "WHERE IS HE YOU BITCH!" a twenty-something lady shouted at an older lady that she was straddling on one of the metro benches.

"Fuck you," the Slaver said. "You, American, speak English?" she asked as Hess approached.

"Occasionally," he answered calmly.

"I want this bitch arrested for assault, battery, and criminal menacing," the lady on the bottom of the stack said.

"Nice slaver tattoo," Victoria pointed out.

"Your name?" Hess asked the frantic lady that had been bashing the slaver into the Metro seat.

"Alice, why?" she asked in confusion, now that she was surrounded on three sides by heavy firepower and Mafiosi.

"Off the slaver, please." Hess waved her toward the side.

"Thank you," the bloodied and battered Slaver said as she sat up. "Good to see justice still exists somewhere in the universe."

"Indeed. Clint, render compliant," Hess ordered.

Clint released his WASR-10 to hang, speed-drew the TASER C2 that had been given to him by the SRT officers, and dropped a shot into the lady. One barb struck her abdomen, the other barb caught her in the left upper arm, and the resulting voltage spike through her body caused her to tense up and collapse back to lying on the seat.

"Uhhh," she groaned. "What the hell was that for? I'm the one being assaulted!"

"Not going to take the word of a Slaver over a victim in this case," Erich said. "Toni, confirm tango as a Slaver?"

Toni stood on her tip-toes to look past Hess' left shoulder. "See the tattoo on her left upper arm? She's been around the block for that. 200 per heart, with an extra 200 sold off per chain." The heart tattoo had two chains around it, meaning a minimum of 600 sold off in her career so far.

"Nose down to the bench, honey," Hess ordered.

"Fuck you," she spat back at him.

"Clint," Hess ordered. Two seconds of tasing later, she rolled off the bench and onto the floor.

Erich handed off his rifle to Toni, drew his pistol, and drove the muzzle into the side of her face and by extension slammed her head into the floor of the seat car. "Not going to interrogate her, big guy?" Toni asked.

"No need. The radio that is smashed to bits on the floor here tells me she was a sentry. She'll know plenty, but her mere presence here tells me enough." Hess slapped a cuff on her exposed right arm. "Bring your arms back to the small of your back slowly and cross your palms facing out."

Apparently, her fearlessness on the tasing did not translate to fearlessness with a .45 barrel mashed into her cheekbone. She slowly brought her hands back and placed them as ordered. "Quintin, finish up."

"Yes sir," the young scrapper said. "Can't we just execute her?"

"Not our call to make," Hess said. "That belongs to the courts. And the courts take a dim view on human trafficking."

"Done," he said after the cuffs were secure.

Hess holstered his pistol and rolled her to the side so he could extract the taser barbs. Once they were out, he stood up, bent down, bunched the back of her shirt and bra in his right fist, and hauled her to standing with one arm. "OW! You bastard! Do you know how much that hurts, being hauled up by my bra?"

"Ask me if I care," Hess said adroitly.

"You're dead for this, fat boy. You, your family, your buddies, all of you!" she raged.

"Sit down," Hess said as he pushed her back down to the metro seat she was being pummeled on prior to his arrival. The Militiaman flexed his right arm at her, which pointed his armpatches at her face. "You already know the American Flag. 300 million pissed-off Americans can and routinely do shake the whole world, honey. But, see the rocker? Regular Guy? That means just exactly what it says, honey. I am a regular Joe Nobody American, and I've killed two of your Slaver buddies on my own, with partial credit on three more. Think about it. Four Joe Nobodies are going to wipe out the Slavers on this train, those we don't capture. If your order really wants to start a war with American Militiamen, most of whom are a helluva lot more lethal than I am, good fucking luck to you all." Hess patted her cheek over where his gun muzzle had given her a hickie.

"Fucking awesome," Quintin said. "Does America allow immigration? I need to study the ways of Joe Nobody Badassitude," he asked.

"Might be able to talk the Sheriff to letting you in," Clarence guessed.

"Quintin, this dumb bitch prisoner is your ward. Fold her in at the back of the line, make sure she doesn't do anything stupid or subversive. Follow?"

"Will do, sir!"

"Alice, grab a spot in line, but no beating on the prisoner. The courts will hammer her flat soon enough."

"Understood," she answered in mild frustration at being denied her petty vengeance.

"Militia, form up. We have likely contact in the next five cars with hostile parties. Steel and brass check, people. Let's make 'em scream."

Car 126 (Seat Car, 1 Level) (1150)  
><span>Car 127 (Seat Car, 2 Levels) (1152) (extracted 4 civilians and [REDACTED])<span>

Hess had deliberately left the trail back in the 125 car, to prevent any kind of accidental casualties in the 'civilian' train behind him (most of which was Mafiosi, armed but untrained). The remainder of the tail (including Alice, oddly enough) had all lined up to the sides of the doors, which took them out of the line of fire when the door opened.

"What do you think, boss? Hard and fast, or slow and low?"

"Hard and fast sounds right." Hess looked over his shoulder to his original tail. "You think six?" he asked Toni.

"That is what I can feel in there or just outside the train," Toni confirmed. "And… someone else in there, royally pissed off, ready to kill. Watch it."

"We shall." He looked back to the rest of the twenty-person 'team' he had assembled out of the dregs of the Train and four Militiamen. "Game faces, people. We go in ten seconds."

A couple slings were adjusted behind him, but for the most part, everyone was already ready. Hess had switched from his Enfield to the AR-15 with a bayonet and holographic sight, which gave him faster firepower. A quick swipe of the bolt to verify brass, then a couple taps on the forward assist and he was good to go.

"Breaching," Clint declared after the ten seconds elapsed.

Clint entered first and went strong-side immediately. Erich went in second and pivoted left, though unexpectedly he actually did find a Slaver in the corner with a shotgun. Her tank-top went a good way to revealing her Slaver Guild tattoos, but that status symbol was only a temporary worry. Rather than take chances on bullet fragments bouncing around the car, Hess hammered the Slaver in the chest with the bayonet, which caused her to reflexively discharge the shotgun into the floor under the nearby seat.

Clarence was the fast third into the room, his Garand and bayonet pointed downrange as soon as he began crossing the threshold between cars. As Hess yanked the bayonet out of the corner-camper sentry, Clarence fired four rounds into the chest of a large guy wearing some heavy body armor. One round struck outside the vest in the left upper arm, but the three chest hits all landed inside a fist-sized group and the third round penetrated into the chest cavity.

Victoria entered last of the Militia, and bounded left at the same time Hess had reset for a finishing stab at the lady. The lady with the scoped AR-15 had immediately sighted on the wench with the shirt that declared her a slaver, though she held fire — a non-combatant had got in behind the lady, making for a dirty shot at best. Instead of that shot, she traversed left and dropped several shots into a guy with some kind of weird shoulder-carried cannon? Two rounds in his upper chest caused the tango to drop the gun and stumble backwards into a seat.

Rather than struggle drawing the bayonet out again, Hess simply released the bayonet and pulled the rifle clear to bring it up on target — the only one of the enemy still standing was a twenty-something slaver lady that was wrapped up by an unidentified guy. She had four rifles aimed at her, but nobody needed to take the shot — the guy used an old combat knife of some kind and drove it into her left rear quarter, not quite straight on into the kidney, but easily close enough to be debilitating. As the lady dropped forward, the unidentified guy yanked the knife, reversed it, and drove the blade all the way to the hilt down through her left shoulder and brachial plexus, ultimately down into the top of her left lung.

"KID, GET DOWN!" Clint shouted at the knife-wielder after he caught sight of one of the remaining tangos aiming in his direction. The guy was fast enough to clear most of the rounds, but not fast enough to avoid them all; a yelp from the distant teen or twenty-something told enough of what went wrong, at least one of the AK rounds fired at him had contacted.

Hess had a clear shot at the second of the remaining enemies, and he took six shots. Two body hits were stopped cold by the tactical armor the guy was wearing, two hits to the right arm and one to the right foot were not blocked by armor. The sixth shot entered the top of the tango's head at an angle and came out the right side of his skull just behind the ear, and with it a goodly portion of his brain mass was shredded and redistributed across a metro seat.

Clint took the last shots as he began moving toward the killing zone, two shots, a pause, then two more as the enemy continued trying to move. The first two were in the body, stopped by some kind of not before seen body armor, then two in the head when Clint was closer to take the shot properly.

"Clear Left!" Clint shouted.

"Hostages right, eight marks!" Clarence shouted.

"Victoria, signal the tail, move 'em up," Erich ordered before he extracted his bayonet from the very-much-dead sentry slaver. "Secondaries, secure and untie those captives!" He was pointing to the ten or so that had been staged near an open window.

"Yes, sir!" Toni said as she led several more forward to cut the zip-ties that had been used to restrain the captives.

"That's how we do it in Claiborne County! Whooo!" Clint shouted.

"Fuck yes, kicking ass, saving lives, gettin' shit done." As Clarence approached Clint, the two raised their right fists and backhanded each other's fist.

"Nereus! Got wounded up here!" Victoria waved the Executor forward.

"That sounded pretty fast and furious. Who took the hits? Clint or Hess?" Nereus guessed.

"Actually, guy on the far side of the seats over there," Hess pointed as Toni helped the twenty-something guy up onto one of the bench seats.

"Kalash '74 hits, nasty stuff," Clint said as he surveyed the back of the knife-wielder's arm and shoulder. "Think you can help him?"

"Certainly," Nereus said as he moved around the seat. _Can you hear me, kid? Nod if you can't speak_.

"I hear you," The guy answered, though rather loudly due to the intense aural abuse his ears had suffered inside a metal pipe with a lot of gunfire in it.

_I can take care of your wounds, if you're willing to allow me to use a semi-magic skill to do so. Otherwise, I can't guarantee anything — surgeons are hard to come by on this train_, Nereus explained telepathically.

The guy flinched slightly at the mention of semi-magic, but simply gave the Executor a droll look in response. "And if I waited for a surgeon, I'd probably end up with either an arm that wouldn't recover fully, or a prosthetic. I look like I care if it's anything short of black magic?" He asked in a significantly sarcastic tone.

"Points for attitude," Victoria said with a smile.

_Just checking, kid. Some people will go to their grave to avoid magic, something about demonic taint or somesuch. Hold still, and this will hurt more than the hits, but only briefly_. Nereus placed one hand on the kid's right shoulder, and the other on his left forearm below the first GSW of the series. "_**Holy order of the Ocean Sword, channel unseen light and heal these wounds thus laid hands upon**_,"he chanted audibly.

Again, nothing happened immediately, but after a few seconds the regions of his body between the Executor's hands began glowing aqua blue. With the coming of the glow the guy began clenching his teeth and fists in serious pain, but Clint expected that kind of reaction for more severe trauma than he had suffered. The glow lasted about ten seconds at full luminescence, then began fading to nothing after Nereus removed his hands.

"You should be good to go now, kid." Nereus stepped back and headed for the center of the trailing group, where some others had congregated to discuss something in Japanese. Hess mentally kicked himself for not moving on learning Japanese when he was younger, but did not dwell on it long.

"Your knife, man," Clarence had pulled the blade from the deceased's shoulder and cleaned it thoroughly. "What's your name?"

"Jeff Evans. You?"

"Clarence Williams. Nice handiwork on the slaver wench, by the way. Why stick your neck out, though?"

"I've been trying to get an angle on them for an hour, that's the same bitch that kidnapped my girlfriend. Thanks, by the way, now I don't know if she's on the train or not."

"Don't go apeshit yet, amigo," Clint said. "We've got a lot of train still to clear, and once we have it secured, you can try to find your squeeze as the Sheriffs clear it out one car at a time."

"What about you? Those are Sheriffs badges?" he waved at Clarence's vest and the badge on it.

"We're Unorganized Militia," Hess said. "Now, don't freak out and taze me or anything, I'm not a subversive. We work with the Sheriffs, but aren't officially Deputies. We're just doing a temporary run here."

Jeff quirked an eyebrow and gestured with his hand at around a normal girl's height, "Brunette chick about yay-tall, wearing a blue V-neck with a long orange skirt, Hazel eyes? 'Cause that certainly sounds like something she'd do if she freaked."

"10-4, amigo, even have the taser marks in my right ass-cheek to prove it," Clint said. "She's in the stack behind us, trying to get off this train like the rest." Clint ducked down behind the seat next to where the last two Slavers had been killed, then popped up with two assault rifles, one in each hand. "Okay, you've got a choice here, amigo," Clint said. "You've got the '74 that was used to shoot you, 100-round drum mag and iron sights, or you have the G36 with an underslung Masterkey shotgun."

"Wait, what?" Jeff asked. "You're just going to give me a gun?"

"Well, if you want off this ass in one piece, your train is going to contribute to the escape," Clint said, then frowned. "That totally didn't come out right. I might be approaching stupid."

"Shut up and eat a Snickers bar," Victoria said to Clint, then looked back to Jeff. "At the minimum, you can help protect the tail if something happens. If you know how to move and shoot, we can always use the help."

"Nowhere near like what you guys did," Jeff admitted before he grabbed up the G36 from Clint. He figured himself decent with rifle, pistol, and shotgun, but he had to silently admit that the four Militia troops were something else entirely. "I'll slip in with the tail, help keep things organized. What kind of pay do you want for getting us home?"

"If it is doable, no guarantees there," Hess hesitated. "I don't know. I don't know enough right now to say one way or another. Worry about the dinero later, I say."

"Got it. And thanks, both for saving Cynthia, and for helping with the Slavers."

Hess nodded twice. "All right, Clint, time to move."

"On it," the pointman handed off the AK-74 to one of the other 'secondaries' and jumped the seat. He moved forward of the other militia troops, then turned to face Hess. "Kinda wondering, boss. If we make it home alive, can we form up a PMC group and — "

"JEFF!" A lady shouted from somewhere behind Hess. Since he was looking away, he did not see Cynthia jump-tackle Jeff. The impact from the tackle slammed Jeff into Toni, who was hanging behind Hess. Toni, significantly smaller than the combined boyfriend / girlfriend, was piled into the back of the massive Militiaman. Erich, caught unawares from the strike from behind, tried to stop the fall by grabbing at the seats to his sides, but wasn't fast enough. Only Clint avoided the dogpile, on dint of being physically faster than Hess by a significant degree. Jeff and Cynthia piled on top of Toni, who ended up mashed face-first into Erich's water bladder on the back of his vest, with Hess face-first into the floor.

"Balls," Hess grumped after the pile settled to the floor. "Didn't see that one coming."

"JEFF! I was so worried! I thought — "

"It's a hallmark moment," Victoria said. Erich easily recognized the flash of a phone camera from behind him.

"While you're at it, take a picture with mine, please," Hess said after he raised his phone up. "I want evidence of this, in case rumors crop up."

"Got it," Victoria grabbed up the phone and snapped two shots.

"Is it safe to come down now?" A voice asked from the stairs.

"Dylan!" Cynthia half-screeched. "Get down here!"

"Little sister wins by default," Clarence said after he saw the guy's reaction to the order from Cynthia.

"Alright, everyone pile off the fat boy militiaman," Hess requested in a bored fashion. "Reunions can continue while we're on the move."

"Gonna need a hand, boss?" Clint asked.

"No, should be good." Hess levered himself up by way of one of the nearby seats, then took a moment to haul Toni to standing after she was veritably crushed between the lovers at her rear and the militiaman in front of her.

"Everything flashed white for a moment there, is that a bad thing?" Toni asked.

"Yeah, generally bad," Erich answered. He studiously didn't comment about where her chest had noticeably landed during the dogpile, given her face was roughly halfway up his back on landing. "Cynthia, after you're done scolding your brother and strangling your boyfriend, can you help Toni along until she recovers from her possible concussion?'

Car 128 (Seat Car, 2 levels) (1204)  
><span>Car 129 (Seat Car, 1 level) (1206)<span>  
><span>Car 130 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1208)<span>

The team was halfway into the car before Hess called a stop. "Clarence, move it up," Hess requested.

"Here, chief… whoafuck," the old-school weapons aficionado said. "Am I seeing shit?"

"Doesn't appear so," Clint said for the Sergeant.

"Looks like the cap is still intact. Grab that piece of door frame and move it; if it isn't trapped, it's yours."

Clarence grabbed up a split door frame chunk and hooked it in between his bayonet and the barrel of the M1 Garand, using leverage to keep it under control. With a little finagling, he was able to poke the device from a distance, and in fact shoved it down the hallway by a distance of three doors to confirm no traps whatsoever.

"Didn't do anything. Nice. I'm going to consider it an honor to blow some shitheads up with that."

"Gosh, Clarence, is that a woody?" Hess reversed the standing joke back onto the other members of the team.

"You're damn straight it is," he said as he dropped aside the door frame chunk and started advancing on the grenade.

Clarence advanced in front of Hess and Clint, though he stopped at an open door, staring into it with a quizzical expression. "Something up?" Clint asked.

"Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (4)," Clarence asked nobody in particular.

"Huh?" Clint asked.

Clarence stepped toward the room, reached into the room, and pulled the door closed. "After that, I've seen it all."

"Okay then Charlie," Clint groused. "Onward to the 'Nade!"

"Hell yes, much more sane thoughts," Clarence commented.

The group advanced to where the German Stick Grenade was resting on the floor, which put Hess roughly parallel to the door that Clarence had closed. While the WW2 gun bunny was fondling his new wooden-handle stick grenade, Hess kept a wary eye on the door with the mystery occupant, so when it did open he was ready.

The door was flung open wildly, which gave perfect indication to Hess and Toni as to the presence of a tango. Both Enfield with Bayonet and M4 with Suppressor were on target before the person could take a full step toward.

"EEEPPP! I surrender! Don't shoot!" Immediately, the lady in question threw her hands up into the air, which caused her bare chest to flail around momentarily.

Hess looked past her for a moment. "Okay, Clarence, message received," he said after he saw the hanging bar and the various exercise equipment in the room, likely what Clarence had seen her doing in her present state of partial dress.

"She was hanging upside down with only jogging pants and hanging boots on," Clarence explained. "That's something I don't think I'll forget, but I don't think I want to remember, either."

"Ever try doing it upside down, sniper guy?" the lady asked, though was still standing in the doorway with her hands in the air. She was referring to his carried rifle, the Springfield 1903 with original scope.

"Married, honey, not playing that game," Clarence said quickly.

"Dunno, sounds different," Victoria mused.

"God help me," Clarence groused.

Erich lowered his rifle, though did not look away from her completely. "No tango. You done fondling the grenade yet, Clarence?"

"Yes, boss, frickin' killjoy."

"Happiness may be a live grenade to toss at your enemies in a firefight, but daylight's wasting right now." Hess moved forward to rejoin the rest of the Militia for the next entry action.

The red-haired lady lowered her rifle with silencer. "Pack the twins away and file in, honey."

Car 131 (Baths, Individual Rooms (14)) (1212) (evacuated 5 civilians)  
><span>Car 132 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1214)<span>  
><span>Car 133 (Baths, Individual Rooms (14)) (1216)<span>  
><span>Car 134 (House Car, 1 Level) (1218)<span>  
><span>Car 135 (Dining Car) (1220)<span>

As soon as Clint tripped the second door, he immediately threw up his right fist as a warning to stop. After a moment, he latched the door closed again and juked back into the house car, his back against the wall next to the train car door.

"That bad?" Erich asked.

"Yeah, this could end in disaster," Clint said. "You gave me a series to watch some time ago, tall blond goofy guy, wears a red trenchcoat, slings a nasty six-shooter in .45 Long Colt. Ringing some bells?"

"10-4, amigo. You're reasonably sure of ID?"

"Close enough for government work. The two ladies working in the kitchen weren't unfamiliar, either."

"Shit gets weirder by the minute. I'm starting to like this job, and that worries me," Hess said. "Okay, here's the scoop. Officially, we don't know this guy. We don't know shit about him. We don't think we know shit about him. We play this like we usually do, but weapons down unless we have a real threat, follow?"

"10-4, big guy."

"Breach and make entry." Hess formed up on Clint, ready to make the necessary moves into the car.

This time, when Clint tripped the door, he did the entry in the usual fashion, enter and go right, followed quickly by Hess going left. Toni and Quintin were next, followed by Clarence and Andrea.

"No tango," Clint said as he uncoiled from his hunched ready position. As soon as he said it, the three persons in the room were looking at him, and by extension the other entry personnel.

Clarence decided an icebreaker was in order, given the short and cryptic conversation between Hess and Jamison. "Sarge, how about we grab a box of rations or two? Half the tail hasn't had any eats recently."

"Sounds like a winner," Hess said as he slung his rifle back over his shoulder, making it visibly obvious he wasn't about to be a threat. "You three object if I take over the galley briefly?" he asked.

"Certainly, go ahead," the taller of the two ladies said.

"Clint, Clarence, on me. Time to toss some boxes." The two ladies had scurried out from behind the counter to make room for the Militiamen. At the end of the counter, Hess took a moment to stack his rifles in the corner, which both freed him up for easier box-throwing and further de-escalated the tension in the room. Clint and Clarence did the same, Clint with his WASR-10 and MDBS-04 double-barrel shotgun, Clarence with his M1 Garand and Springfield 1903A3 Sniper, and the three were down to pistols and shotguns if needed.

"Oh my, if I may ask, who are you guys?" the tall one asked as Clint passed by her.

"Kentucky Militia," Clarence stopped to answer the question, which put him standing right in front of the guy with the red trenchcoat. "We're on the Train to stop the sex-slave trade and rescue people."

"Sex-slave trade? So that's what was going on, dirty bastards," the shorter lady said. "Urggghhh! Why didn't I realize that?"

"If you weren't actively looking for it, you'd be hard pressed to notice unless you were in the wrong place at the wrong time," Clint said. "What's up with you three? Don't look like the usual fare on this train."

"We thought this was an express train to October City," the short one said. "Boy were we wrong."

"It's been a rough march up here, dodging hostile groups, but at least the food and drink is good," the guy in the red coat said. "Name's Vash. You?" he asked Clarence.

"Clarence. Victoria, my wife, is over there against the wall," he pointed. "The scrawny one is Clint. Don't let his puffed-up chest fool you, the big guy has been known to bench-press him in full gear." Clarence shifted his pointing. "The guy on the control panel is Erich. This train landed in his backyard, and we ended up in a gunfight with the Slavers to try to save lives of the refugees coming out of the train. It was his idea to climb on and try to save lives."

"You bounty hunters or something?" the short one asked. "Oh, sorry, should introduce myself. I'm Meryl Strife, and this is Millie Thompson. We're Loss Prevention Agents of the Bernar-Dailey Insurance Society."

"That's gotta be a thankless job," Clint said.

"To answer your question, no, we are Militia, not bounty hunters," Hess said as he stepped back from the control panel. "Order placed, we should have the first in a moment." Hess looked up the the crowd of 'secondaries' that had filed in. "Quintin, Carl, Spencer, up here!"

"Yes sir!" the three troopers approached.

Hess hauled open the temporal storage unit after it clicked to unlatch. "Set your rifles aside, guys. You three are going to be the food and water buffalo for the trailing mass." Hess hauled one box of MREs out and slammed it on the counter, then pulled his utility knife from a draw-down sheath and slapped it down on the top of the box. "Cut it open, stage it." Hess pulled a second box, dropped it on the counter, and this time dropped his AR-15 bayonet on top of it. "Spencer, cut it open, stage it." A third box came out, and this time Erich deployed his 10" United Cutlery Bushmaster survival knife on the box. "Carl, same gig. Cut it open, stage it. And keep the knives until we're done."

"On it, sir!" Quintin replied with gusto.

Hess and Jamison took mere seconds to offload all the boxes of MREs, then closed up the deploy hatch for the transfer system. As soon as it closed, it locked up, and Hess took a few moments to pull his hydration hose forward to draw out a drink of water. Which action promptly caught the attention of Clint. "Damn, Hess, do you suck management titty like that at work?"

Hess gagged on his water, which caused him to sputter and blow some of it out of his nose — right onto Clint's pants. "Oh my God, I can't believe you just did that! I thought it was a myth!" Clarence half-shouted, referring to the ability to blow water out of his nose. He segued into a fit of laughter at Clint's trying to pat-dry his pants.

"Are you freaking kidding me, Clint? I wouldn't be caught dead trying to mack the Director." Hess gasped out between coughing fits.

"Are you alright?" Millie asked Hess.

"I'll live, I'll live," he said. "Damn pointman, does it to me every time I try drinking more than a mouthful."

"Could I borrow one of your rifles?" Meryl asked Clarence.

"Uh, why?" said WW2 gun-bunny asked.

"I need a good stout stick to beat some sense into the scrawny one. Seriously, asking a question like that," she harumphed at the end of her sentence, staring lethally at Clint.

"Use this," Hess slid a light frypan down the counter to where Meryl was standing. "No headshots, I need him functional for the rest of the train. A good frypan spanking would be warranted, though."

"Ohshit," Clint groused.

"Carl, on me while Clint tries to dodge the lady scorned," Hess waved the 'secondary' over the counter, who readily obliged.

With two box-throwers, the MREs only took twenty seconds to come out of storage, and it was closed back up for the next round. "Think we should try to stop her, sir?" Quintin said, looking at where Meryl was trying to swing around a couple ladies to hit Clint.

"Hell no, this is good family entertainment," Hess said, then noticed something about the guy eating the pancakes. "From that look, you're thinking something, Vash. Might I inquire?"

"You're not normal soldiers, or even normal law enforcement," Vash commented. "What is Militia?"

"Reserve soldiers," Hess answered. "We get together on weekends and drill for combat, but our day-to-day lives are boring. I fix computers, Clarence here is a business analyst, Victoria is a Human Resource Clerk, Clint works house construction." Hess paused to open the delivery box, which was loaded with four cases MREs and four cases bottled water. "We're just here to stop the slavers and try to bring order to chaos."

"Do you need help?" Millie asked.

"Ma'am, I could use any help willing," Hess answered between box throws. "If you're willing to follow a crazy American into the heart of this train, you would be much welcomed." After the last package of water bottles was out, he closed it up again for the last round.

"Can we at least get room and board out of it, if we do?" Vash asked spontaneously. "And doughnuts, if available?"

"No guarantees on anything, but I can certainly try," Hess answered before he pulled the door open for the last round of water bottles (8 cases, 32 bottles per case). "Hell, if we have to ditch and go to ground, I could probably use all hands on deck where we land."

Car 136 (Seats, 1 Level) (1232)  
><span>Car 137 (Seats, 2 Level) (1234)<span>  
><span>Car 138 (Seats, 2 Level) (1236)<span>  
><span>Car 139 (Seats, 2 Level) (1238)<span>  
><span>Car 140 (Seats, 2 Level) (1240)<span>  
><span>Car 141 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (1242) (Evacuated 7 Delta Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 142 (Baths, Individual Stalls (20)) (1244)<span>  
><span>Car 143 (Baths, Individual Stalls (20)) (1246)<span>  
><span>Car 144 (Baths, Individual Stalls (20)) (1248)<span>  
><span>Car 145 (House Car, 1 Level) (1250)<span>  
><span>Car 146 (Lounge Car) (1252) (evacuated 12 Bravo Mafia)<span>

The breaching and entering action into the car went as normal. Clint, Victoria, Clarence, Hess, each entered within a half second of the last, total four seconds from door open to last person in the room.

After entry, it only took Hess about three seconds to realize he had walked into a shitstorm-in-potentia.

"What do you think, boss? Eight full autos?" Clint asked.

"Seven, and at least two sniper rifles," Hess lowered his Enfield and raised his left hand after a laser sight passed over him. Victoria, Clint, and Clarence were quick to follow suit.

"Put your hands down, Americans. It's embarrassing. Girls, no threat, back to your game," one of the ladies said. After a few moments, the rest of the occupants of the room lowered their weapons and resumed either watching television or shooting pool. "The way you entered, we thought you might be a Slaver tactical team. Come over here, Sergeant Hess," Hess dwelled in on the speaker, a mid-thirties lady that was roughly his height, blond and blue, and armed with what appeared to be an H&K Mark 23 / SOCOM with the laser sight that had been all over him.

"Looks legit, guys," Hess said, again as warning for his troops to be wary but not overt about it. "Take ten, engine cars ain't going nowhere. Victoria, pass the word back through the ranks, take ten, hit the bathrooms in the shower cars we just passed if needed.."

"Will do," she said. "After that, I think I need a can myself."

Hess transitioned to a left-hand-only grip on his Enfield as he approached the bar in the lounge car. Two ladies were sitting at the bar, the thirty-something blondie and a slightly physically larger twenty-year-old black-hair lady, with a third behind the bar (21, brown and brown, physically small) running the bar. When he took his seat, the Militiaman set aside his bolt-action and brushed aside his AR-15.

"What'll it be, soldier?" the bartender asked.

"You have two small bottles of Doctor Pepper in the cold cab. I'll do them, if you will?" Hess requested.

"That's unusual," she said, then handed them over to Hess. "No alcohol?"

"Not when on duty." Hess used the cutting hook on the back of his survival knife to pop the caps, a feature which also doubled over as a bottle opener. "Much obliged for not ventilating the team or myself, by the way. Erich Hess, Claiborne County Kentucky. You?"

"Megan Christenson, Reagan County Texas," she saluted Hess with a martini glass. "Don't worry about an explanation, we've been keeping up with your progress and results," the Bravo Mafiosi waved a hand held CB at him. "You've got the Slavers scared shitless. My girls report there are two journeymen and two apprentices in car 182. They're actively talking about hiding from you, by concealment or disguise. One of the girls from that unit will meet you early to give you a brief."

"You do realize, if I get the drop on them, I will have to take them prisoner?" Hess noted.

"Definitely, but better captured than free-roaming." She sighed. "I've been in a couple gunfights with the Slavers. Uneven skills, but driven. Being a Texan, I know enough about firearms, but except for rumors of the Magi entering and clearing trains, I've never seen any systematic attempt at killing or capturing the Slavers."

"Texas," Hess nodded twice. "Texas. I always told myself that if shit really hit the fan, Texas was my bug-out location. What got you on the train?"

"A couple of my cousins were grabbed. When I saw what happened, I grabbed up my revolver and rifle, and tried chasing them down. Never did find them. Been on the Train for five years now, working my way back and forth, trying to free the captives or bushwack the slavers. Your turn," she said.

"Train landed in my backyard, so my neighbor and I kept an eye on it. Some captives ran out and were shot in the back by a Slaver, then he shot up my house. We returned fire, wounded him, and I geared up for combat. The team assembled and we cleared the wounded, then got in a gunfight with five of 'em. We won, and the Sheriff allowed us to enter and try to bring order to chaos." Hess drained one of the bottles he had been provided during his explanation.

"You're out to rescue people, basically," she said. "Militiamen. That's not something I expected to ever see, an old-school militiaman."

"Militia are a rare breed in 2015 America. The Media has so thoroughly pissed on the name, that most people think a Militia is some kind of fascist, anti-semitic and disestablishment organization."

"Wait, 2015? As is, the year of our Lord 2015?" she asked. Hess nodded affirmative. "Wow! How wild it would be to live in that kind of world! Tell me, are there flying cars in 2015?"

"If you're asking that question, you were living before the 1980s," Hess said.

"Nineteen and fifty-six, to be exact," she said. "I was a bit worried when I saw your front-man come in with a Soviet rifle."

"Clint? He carries the Kalash because he has a screw or two loose," Hess said with a glance over his shoulder to the pointman shooting some billiards with the ladies. "Clarence carries a Garand because he is a WW2 gun nut. Victoria carries an AR-15 with a heavy barrel because she likes reaching out and touching people from a distance. I carry the Enfield because it is a family weapon that capped off Fascists in the past, and I figured I might have to use it for that purpose again."

"Fascists? I thought they died out in World War 2," Megan commented.

"Not quite, milady. Marxism, and its cousin fascism, are alive and well in 2015 America. Fascism is total control by the State, with partnership of the businesses. The United States government of my era alternates between semi-fascist and corporatocracy depending on how heavily influenced the State is by the corporations. Our existing president is a hard Socialist, his supposed successor on the Democrat side is all but Communist, and the three prior Presidents were either Global Statists or Socialists." Hess sighed, then tipped up the last of his Dr. Pepper. "Ah, that look, the desire to wade in, knife in each hand, and begin solving the problem."

"Not how I was planning it, I was thinking two fists and hard-toed boots," Megan answered.

"I advise against, and I wholeheartedly suggest you return to the past and enjoy it while it lasts. The future is definitely not what it used to be," Erich suggested.

"Can't get home. The Train Engineer said it's impossible to jump back to where I was unless I knew the exact location in terms of worlds."

"Ah," Hess grumped. "Well, I have a guy in the team that thinks he might know a way to get people home. If you want a shot at it, you may want to fold in with the team."

"And the rest?" the bartender asked.

"Hey, I'm magnanimous about these things. You want a way home, and I can find the means, you're welcome to join. I'll provide the technical method, but you may have to finance the operation to get home," Hess said. With one sentence, he had made the mental leap of faith that Nereus had circumscribed, that the road home would have to be paved with hard effort from everyone involved.

"We're in, but I'm in it to avenge my cousins," Megan said. "I owe the Slavers two lives. You put me in a position where I can kill them, you'll have my loyalty. I'll dedicate the rest to getting the rest of the Bravos homes or homeward bound."

"You have a deal, Megan," Hess said.

Car 147 (Seats, 2 level) (1304)  
><span>Car 148 (Seats, 2 level) (1306)<span>  
><span>Car 149 (Seats, 2 level) (1308)<span>  
><span>Car 150 (Seats, 1 level) (1310)<span>  
><span>Car 151 (Seats, 2 level) (1312)<span>  
><span>Car 152 (Seats, 2 level) (1314) (evacuated 1 civilian)<span>  
><span>Car 153 (Bathrooms, Gender-split) (1316) (evacuated 8 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 154 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1318)<span>  
><span>Car 155 (Bathrooms, Individual Stalls (20)) (1320) (evacuated 4 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 156 (House, 2 level) (1322) (evacuated 9 Bravo Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 157 (Storage) (1324)<span>  
><span>Car 158 (Seats, 1 level) (1326) (evacuated 12 Charlie Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 159 (Seats, 1 level) (1328)<span>  
><span>Car 160 (Seats, 1 level) (1330)<span>  
><span>Car 161 (Seats, 2 level) (1332) (evacuated 13 Charlie Mafia, 15 Delta Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 162 (Seats, 1 level) (1335)<span>  
><span>Car 163 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1337)<span>  
><span>Car 164 (Bathrooms, Individual Stalls (20)) (1339)<span>  
><span>Car 165 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1341)<span>  
><span>Car 166 (Bathrooms, Individual Rooms (14)) (1343)<span>  
><span>Car 167 (House Car, 1 Level) (1345)<span>  
><span>Car 168 (Dining Car) (1347)<span>

Clint opened the second door, which immediately assailed the group with the smell of some badass cooking. Why he immediately called a halt, then backed off and closed the door again, Hess wasn't entirely sure.

"What do you think? Same scenario?" Erich asked after a moment.

"Same scenario, different actors. Foxtrot Foxtrot niner," Clint reported.

"Ah, the value of a wildly wasted youth, trying to save the world in virtual scenario," Hess said with a smile. "Lemme guess, the big goofy one with the massive tongue is behind the grill, and a couple others are in the dining area?"

"10-4," Clint answered.

"Well, breach and make entry, same ROE (5) as last. If we get nothing, we move on toward the next car."

"Not going to try to pick them up, chief?" Clint asked, shocked.

"Naw, I think I'm developing an operational concept here, that obviates having to 'catch 'em all' on the first pass."

Clint scrunched his forehead and pursed his lips, thinking hard about what such an operational concept would be. "Not seeing it, big guy."

"It's well outside the box, scrawny one," Hess answered. "I'm not going to say a thing about it for now, though, until I have had some skull time with Nereus and a couple others to verify a few details. For now, we breach and make entry."

"On it, sir!" Clint turned around to face the door, tripped the latch, and made the first entry. Clarence, then Quintin, followed by Toni, Victoria, with Hess as the last man in.

After Quintin entered, most of the conversation in the room ended abruptly. By the time Hess entered, it was almost silent except for the sounds of cooking foods. "No tango, trailers move it up!" Hess ordered, gesturing for the rescues to head toward the far door. "Clint, lead it off."

"As always, big guy," the pointman led the way, his massive double-barrel magazine-fed shotgun resting at combat slung just in case.

Hess considered it rather surreal to walk within a yard of two of his favorite Final Fantasy characters (Zidane, Dagger/Garnet), and even more surreal to know they were likely 100 percent legit given the interdimensional nature of the trains. Of course, he gave their whole table a quick once-over as he passed, since they were all very well armed with melee weapons, but nothing overt was happening so he didn't dwell on the diners.

"Looks legit, eh?" Clint said.

"10-4," Erich answered.

A lady at the counter turned around with a hoisted beer bottle. "Give 'em hell, Americans!" she shouted.

"YEAH!" the guy next to her shouted.

"We're working on sending the Slavers to Hell, stand by for further," Clarence answered.

"Stacked and ready, boss," Clint said at the far door.

"Make it happen."

Car 169 (Seats, 2 level) (1350)  
><span>Car 170 (Seats, 2 level) (1352)<span>  
><span>Car 171 (Seats, 2 level) (1354)<span>  
><span>Car 172 (Seats, 2 level) (1356)<span>  
><span>Car 173 (Seats, 1 level) (1358)<span>  
><span>Car 174 (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (1400)<span>  
><span>Car 175 (Bathrooms, Gender-split) (1402) (evacuated 5 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 176 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (1404)<span>  
><span>Car 177 (Bathrooms, Gender-split) (1406) (evacuated 2 civilians)<span>  
><span>Car 178 (House Car, 1 level) (1408) (evacuated 9 civilians) (recovered 1 BAR w Scope, 25x 10-gauge SG shells)  
><span>Car 179 (Lounge Car) (1410)<span>  
><span>Car 180 (Seats, 2 level) (1412)<span>  
><span>Car 181 (Seats, 2 level) (1414)<span>

"Bravo-17, Bravo command, we're at car 181, where are you?"

"Bravo Command, we're coming down stairs now," a voice said over the CB radio. Victoria had reprogrammed her set to cover the Bravo Mafia frequencies, so Hess would have a good cut to their traffic.

"Clint, make entry, keep it tight," Erich ordered.

Clint didn't respond verbally, he simply tripped the door latch and bolted inside, followed quickly by Clarence. Hess and Toni, followed quickly by the Elven riflewoman Sandra and the Bravo Mafia lead Megan. Hess had the rest of the tail hold back at the 180 car and farther back, to prevent any chance of crossfire taking out a noncombatant.

Partway down the deliberate search of the car, Hess noticed movement on the far staircase, two ladies with shotguns. Both guns were down and their left hands were up, to make sure they were not shot by the Militia troops. "Bravo-17, here with the info, sir!" the lead lady said as Hess approached.

"What you got?" Victoria asked.

"Four Slavers ahead, dressed like old-school punk rockers. Bottom floor, port side. They ditched their guns to make it more plausible, but they're all wearing long sleeves to cover the tats."

"Punk rockers, long clothes, roger that. Fold into the tail after we clear the next car."

"Yes, sir," the ladies answered.

"Clint, breach it like we always do."

Car 182 (Seats, 2 level) (1416) (Evacuated 4 Bravo Mafia, 1 Charlie Mafia, 6 Delta Mafia) (Captured 4 slavers)

Victoria and Clarence were the first two through the door, since they had the best ranged firepower of the team, and Clarence deliberately took the port-side guard with his new Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR) with scope. Hess and Clint were next, deliberately inverting the marching order to put firepower over speed in this case.

"Bravo-18, Bravo Command, we're in 182. Come on down," Megan ordered as Toni and she took up position behind Clint.

"On the way," Bravo-18 answered.

Hess advanced past the obvious attempted punk-rockers, then half a seat past them, he signaled a stop with his left fist. A small cadre of Deltas had stood up just short of the door and were approaching, but with lowered weapons. "Delta Mafia?" He asked for clarification.

"Yes sir, Markon, Delta Lead on this train. You're the infamous Hess, Kentucky Militia?"

"Roger that," Erich answered. "What's the word?"

"You're standing next to four goth rockers."

Hess gave them a sideways glance. "Actually, well, can't determine if they're supposed to be punks or goths, they're kinda treading the line between and not quite making either work, follow?"

"They are neither," Markon answered. "The four of them came in, ditched their guns two seats behind me, and changed clothes. At that time, the Bravos on the stairs and my troops saw all four of their tattoos. Slavers, all four of them."

"Confirmed, Militiman," one of the Bravos on the stairs said.

"Well, isn't that cute," Clint said as he looked over the four Slavers, three guys and a lady. "Yeah, definitely not rockin' those Punk duds right."

"Your call, kids," Hess said, since two of them were late teens, and the other two were early twenties. "You can either do the handcuffs the easy way, or I can make it hurt to any degree you want. And before you ask, no, there is no third option."

"We're going to take this to the Star League General Council, Militia fatboy," the lady said. "We will make your lives a living hell!"

"Not the first time I've heard that or similar today," Erich said in a thoroughly unimpressed fashion. "You first, blondie. Stand up, hands up." She complied. "Face the wall, walk backwards towards my voice. Walk back, walk back, stop. Down to your knees."

"On my knees! That's disgusting! I'd never give you a blow — "

"Shut up," Hess ordered bluntly. With her on her knees, it was a simple affair to slap the steel bracelets on. "Toni, check her for blades or guns."

"Anarchy dude, stand up, hands up, face the wall," Clint ordered.

"Man, I don't have to put up with this shit," he said without moving.

"Oi, fuckwagon, look over your right shoulder," Clint said. Once he did, he saw Clarence at the far end of the car, staring through a scope on top of a BAR at the Slavers. "See the serious dude down the way with the scoped BAR? I say so, he cuts loose and you're dead. Anything goes wrong, your fault, my fault, nobody's fault, he cuts loose and you're dead. You try doing stupid shit, he cuts loose and you're dead. Are you getting the message here? Am I going too fast for your limited brainpower?"

"All right, all right," the anarchy guy stood up and put his hands in the air.

"Good answer, assplugger, you can learn! I think we'll work on shapes and colors next week. Now, take two steps backwards and down to your knees."

"Yes, sir," the guy did as instructed.

Clint let the shotgun hang and cuffed him quickly, then locked the cuffs to prevent them from overtightening. "Megan, check this gutter trash fuckwad, blades, guns, contraband, then send him toward the back."

"Definitely," Megan pulled him aside into a different seat area to check.

"Upside-down Rosary, stand up, hands up, face the rear," Hess ordered. "Take two steps back, down to your knees."

"I usually ask for dinner and a movie before blowing a guy," the slaver said.

"You'll get no such luxury out of the court system," Hess threw the attempted insult back at him. "If you're lucky, Bubba will give your bum-hole a flexing on the inside, keep you amused for the twenty-to-life ," Hess said while he cuffed the guy. "Megan, you're on," he passed the punk back toward the trailing troops.

"Last mohawk-ian, up and at 'em, you know the drill," Clint ordered. The guy stood up, hands up, turned around and took the two steps slowly.

"Concealed gun, right waistband," Hess declared, his rifle aimed almost directly at it. "Looks like a Jimenez product."

"Punk guns, why am I not surprised?" Clint said.

As the Slaver went down to knees, his right hand went for the gun that Hess had identified. Clint barreled him to the ground to disrupt his attempted draw, while Hess stepped forward and slammed his boot down on the guy's wrist. "AAAAGGGHHH! What the fuck! My hand! You broke my hand!"

Hess ground more of his significant mass down on the hand, which elicited another screech, before he cut the bridge of the punk-slaver's nose with the tip of the Enfield bayonet. "At least your three buddies are smart enough to take their chances with the courts, dumbfuck. Are you trying to get yourself killed before I hand you over to the Sheriff?"

"Nobody disrupts the Slavers' Guild, fat boy. NOBODY! You all will burn and bleed for this! We protect our own, we avenge our own!"

"Cute, asshole, real cute," Eric retorted in a matter-of-fact tone.

"We don't fear those 'thousands' of Militia troops you think you have. We don't fear you! We don't fear America! We will have vengeance for this!"

"It's a good thing you have the biggest balls in the Guild, then, because Bubba will have so much fun playing with them," Erich said with a fake-cheery voice. "Clint, got it?"

"Yeah, got it," the pointman said. The Jimenez JA25 went up onto the bench seat next to them, out of reach of the slaver. Hess picked it up, disarmed it, and dropped it in his drop pouch along with the Smith Sigma pistol from the first slaver he had shot.

"Finish cuffing this shitburger and search him. We're almost to the end of the Train."

"Hell yes sir!"

Car 183 (Seats, 2 level) (1423)  
><span>Car 184 (Seats, 2 level) () ()<span>  
><span>Car 185 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (1427)<span>  
><span>Car 186 (Bathrooms, gender-split) (1429)<span>  
><span>Car 187 (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (1431) (evacuated 6 Bravo Mafia)<span>  
><span>Car 188 (Bathrooms, gender-split) (1433)<span>  
><span>Car 189 (House car, 1 level) (1435)<span>  
><span>Car 190 (Dining Car) (1437) (Evacuated 27 civilians, 6 Bravo Mafia, 3 Delta Mafia)<span>

"Hess! Hess! Hold up, big guy!" Someone behind the entry team shouted after they had entered halfway into the dining car.

"Hold here, guys," Hess said. "Executor? What gives?"

Nereus halted just behind the entry team, a look of despair on his face. "We've got a problem, big guy. I've lost my security breaker box. Without it, we can't force our way into the control engine without causing massive damage to the engines."

"Fits the exterior doors on the trains?" Hess said, pointing to a closed and locked outside door for the dining car.

"Yeah, yeah! You haven't seen one? I may have dropped it during an evasion action toward the end of the luggage cars," Nereus explained.

"Huh. Clint, pull that breaker box you found," Hess said.

"Oh, this thing?" Clint drew out the SL Breaker Box from his dump pouch. "This it, Executor?"

"Holy shit, how did you even recognize this thing as useful?" Nereus asked.

"I am an electronics analyst, figuring these things out is my job," Hess said. "That thing will get us access to the train engines?"

"Definitely, we get in, we take over the control system, we land the train in a location we can reorganize and prepare for further steps, and after that we work on getting the expertise in to get people home."

Hess snorted loudly. "You have a location in mind," he said, which was decidedly not a question.

"Yeah. Recently abandoned planet, Terra 232. Former Star League junket, the local administration was neutered by the Grand Council, which forced the SLDF to pull out. Rest of planet has gone down the toilet, those who weren't in a position to bail out at the end."

"Pulling out early, that's bad business," Clint said, which comment drew laughs from several of the tables nearby.

"Yeah, most girls don't like that," Nereus agreed. "The SLDF jumped ship about three months ago, so most of the infrastructure is reasonably intact. Terra 232 is an alternate-geography planet, three continents instead of seven, but more land mass overall than classic Terra. I figure, we park the train in one of the nine Railhead bases on planet, set up shop, and work on getting a cash flow so you can fulfill your wish to get these people home."

"Nice," Hess groused. "You are proposing we take a chaotic scenario and drop it into a big goddamn pisspot full of extra chaos, and serve it with a side of anarchy, is my readback correct?"

"Exactly," Nereus said. "Think about it. Terra 232 is effectively in a state of anarchy or city-state mentality. The bases are unusable to anyone not Star League. We park under one of the bases, filter up and take it over, we can operate out of the facilities almost completely undetected and unassailable. And, keep in mind that with the breakdown of regular commerce, those people out and about aren't going to give two shits about the new kids on the block. They're busting ass to save their own, they won't have time or effort to waste on us."

"Phrased that way, doesn't sound too bad," Clarence said.

"Yeah, that almost sounds manageable," Hess suggested. "Almost. Okay, say we do land there. We take over one of these bases. What's the process after that?"

"We fortify in place, then we work on some kind of method to secure the services of the Temporal Psionics Guild, who can provide personnel necessary to find ways home for the tail," Nereus said. "Due to agreements with the Guilds, we Executors are not allowed to execute their job functions, even though roughly a third of Executors could easily do so."

"You?" Victoria asked.

"Nope, my psionic skills extend only to telepathy, telekinesis, and aquakinesis," Nereus explained.

"Okay, let's prove some Liberals wrong, let's talk and walk at the same time," Hess waved the group toward the door. As soon as he did so, the entire content of the room stood up to join him, as well as his team.

Car 191 (Seats, 2 level) (1444) (evacuated 6 Bravo Mafia)

"Here's the trick. Before the world went to hell, my boss sent me in to take survey of the Star League infrastructure, since the SLDF has not been keeping up with its reports — the thinking at the time was we were going to set 232 up as a direct fief of the Executors, and use contractors to keep order on planet under direct command of the Executors."

Hess waved a small gaggle of six Bravo Mafia toward him. "You Bravos?"

"Yes, sir. Can we follow you out?" their team lead asked.

"Fall into the tail, we'll get you somewhere reasonably safe." After they brushed past Hess and Nereus, The two resumed their walk behind a wall of personnel. The rest of the 'secondary' troops had moved forward, and even Vash had taken up the entry team work. "So, what stopped you?"

"Logistics. The bosses couldn't free up enough personnel to make it happen before the government collapsed, so we had to scrap the plan. And we Executors are specifically denied the right to claim territory; if we take land, it has to go either to the Star League or to one of the Member States."

"Ah," Hess grumped. "So, you have an idea what the planet looks like. You've also said we have options for where to land, one of these so-called Railhead bases. What are we talking here?"

"Terra 232 has a total of nine bases that are rail-network terminus stations. Four on the Western Continent, but I advise against taking residence there. Even when there was a semblance of authority on planet, that area was a hellhole. Two Railheads on the Northern Continent, including one of the two functional Hyper Pulse Generator communication systems on planet. Three Railheads on the Southern Continent, and even some of the best facilities for interplanetary commerce, since the central Railhead is under Starport Base Killan."

"The other HPG, somewhere on the Western Continent? That is the right acronym, correct?" Clint asked.

"Exactly accurate," Nereus commented. "You are correct, the other HPG is at Base Erlanger, which is in a temperate band on the northern reaches of the Western Continent. The other HPG is Base Boarhound, the eastern reaches heavy fortress on the Northern Continent. We will definitely need access to the HPGs for our purposes, communication is essential going forward."

"So, it is Erlanger or Boarhound, then. What are the Pros and Cons of each?" Hess asked.

"Erlanger is a single-wall railhead base, HPG, light aerospace, extensive infantry facilities, some armor facilities, plenty of room for expansion. Static defenses were under construction when the SLDF jumped ship; when I did my survey, they only had the foundations of three turrets in place. Erlanger was intended to be a Boot Camp facility for the planet."

"Not bad, we'll want that if we go big," Clarence said offhand.

"You thinking something, Clarence?" Hess asked with a smile.

"I might be," Clarence countered.

"And Boarhound?"

"Oldest base on planet, but still reasonably fresh. They had just done a facilities and equipment overhaul and refresh when I did my inspection."

Car 192 (Seats, 2 level) (1448) (evacuated 5 civilians, 6 Bravo Mafia, 7 Charlie Mafia)

"Heh. Still walking, still talking, guess we may be a little bit smarter than the Lib-wads think we are," Clint said as they crossed the threshold into the next car.

"Allow them their illusions, Clint," Victoria cautioned. "Geniuses come and go. Stupid is eternal, which is why the hard left just never seem to naturally select themselves out of Existence."

"Back on Base Boarhound, and stop ragging on the llamas that aren't here to defend themselves with hypersensitive emotional responses," Erich ordered.

"Boarhound, double-walled mixed Army Group base. Completely built, some room for expansion. Light Aerospace facilities, and the Starport is exterior to the walls, but the rest of the facility is top-notch. You have infantry, armor, specialists, training, administrative, underground and above-ground facilities, a full array of defenses, watchtowers, the whole nine meters. Even has docks for four Atmospheric Assault Ships, like the old Pegasus-class ships."

"Sounds like a workable facility," Clarence said. "Take a fuck-ton of people to staff it, though."

"We don't have to staff it all, just the parts necessary to hold it while we get people home," Hess pointed out fairly. "Bravos, Charlies, fall in with the trailing teams for evacuation," Hess ordered as the ladies and children stood up when they recognized the Militiamen.

"Good point, chief," Clint said.

"That's not in congruence with my concept, but I agree," Clarence said.

"I'm going to want to hear this concept before the day is up," Erich said to Clarence. "Anyway, would we be so lucky as to have any of the old SLDF gear left over on their way out? Or did they take it all with them?"

Nereus shrugged famously at the question. "They will have left the facility control and sustainment systems in place, but as to weapon systems or mechanized units, fat chance. The stingy bastards in the Ordinance Department would have gone through with a broom and dustpan to pick up any brass filings on the way out, never mind anything useful like a battlemech or mobile suit."

Behind the conversation, Hess could hear someone gag. A quick glance in that direction told Hess that it had been Jeff Evans.

"Eh, whatever, the big stuff is advertisement, and the advertisement is something we don't want to do while we're trying to stay hidden," Clint opined.

"Well, not every part of a collosal fuckup OWG can be a failure. Someone has to do something right," Victoria said. "Just so happens, Murphy's Law being in full effect here, the one group that does their job right will actually make our job harder in so doing."

"Murphy's Law," Clint, Clarence and Erich all chant drolly in unison.

"Okay, sounds like the real-estate to beat in this case," Hess said. "So, when we land, we are going to want to take over the main control facilities and ensure the base is locked out. CIC building?"

"All that is controlled from the main Star League Headquarters Building. Boarhound's command building is a double-size Admin building, because it is also the full command center for the Northern Continent."

"Nice," Hess declared. "We'll set up shop inside, funnel the tail into barracks, and start working on cash flow. All opposed?" Nobody in the group said a word. "All for?"

"Aye," the Executor and the three Militiamen said before they began filing through to the next car.

Car 193 (Seat Car, 2 level) (1451) (evacuated 7 Bravo Mafia, 13 Delta Mafia)

"The Ayes have it, Boarhound it is," Hess said. "Now, let's harken back to a bit of basic human needs. We just solved the shelter issue. The three other problems are food, water, and heat. I take it, with the facilities support equipment, we should have no problem getting heat?"

"Yeah, I think the ten Industrial Fusion Reactors in the bottom of the Administration Building will give enough heat, and enough juice to keep things going," Nereus said. "The smaller facilities only have four reactors, which is why I was nudging towards Boarhound. Even if two of the reactors are tits up when we arrive, we'll have plenty of juice to go around."

"So, next is water," Victoria said.

"Every Star League base is built with a water tap that goes either to a nearby river or to an underground aquifer. Prevents a besieging force from being able to completely cut off the water supply to the base. The filtration equipment is loaded with local filter media, sand and carbon filters usually, so you should be able to simply flush the system and resume use," Nereus said. "Of course, plan bravo would be a wizard uses his mad magic skills to fill a tank of water if needed."

"Nice plan," Hess said. "And that leaves food."

"We just walked past an easy source of food," Clint said.

"Bingo," Nereus acknowledged the point. "We shuck the supplies out of the dining car, use them in the base galleys."

"Is defrauding the food network like that going to be a good long-term plan?" Victoria asked.

"I'll get the boss to sign off on it. I figure, we Executors have already ordered the Grand Council to shut the trains down, they refuse, they can pay us in supplies and salvage to do their dirty work for them," High Executor Nereus said offhand.

"Bingo! Fucking bingo!" Clarence said. "Is there an easy way to sell off salvage? Material or equipment?" he asked in series.

"Well, yeah, ScrapNet. It's an interdimensional consignment network that corporations big and small use to buy material, raw, recycled, or finished, and they use the same network to move their goods out wholesale. Civilians can even use it for retail purchases of stuff that isn't produced on their planet. Why?" Nereus asked, a little bit befuddled by Clarence's immediate and strong reaction.

"Look around you, amigo. What do you see?" Clarence asked, waving his arms wide at the train car around him.

"A double decker train car, why?" Nereus asked, even more thoroughly confused.

"Wrong scale. You're seeing the finished product. I see several dozen metro-liner benches. I see several hundred square feet of rubber flooring. I see two dozen electroluminescent light fixtures. Several dozen windows. Steel walls. Steel frame. Low-load rail bogeys. Miles of wiring. You may see the finished product, I see industrial material in bulk, the kind of scrap material that businesses would want to buy at a cut rate to get their own processes in gear. I see funding in potent — " Clarence was interrupted by walking backwards into the end of the train car.

"Less grandstanding, husband of mine, more walking," Victoria redirected him through the door to the next car.

Car 194 (Seats, 1 Level) (1454) (evacuated 1 civilian)

"Okay, wow, that's a hard plan," Nereus said. "Rock fucking solid, actually. I could see some swinging wanks get behind that plan, easily. Clear the train, strip it down, disassemble it, sell the complete cars or disassemble the cars for component materials. That might actually work, but I would definitely need to have my bosses sign off on it."

"How so?" Erich asked.

"These trains are commissioned by the Grand Council. They declared them 'Heritage of Existence', which is why they are still free-roaming and supplied. My bosses would be in a position to cover your asses for doing the disassembly, prevent any manner of high-level reprisal from the Star League Grand Council. And, it becomes a long-term source of revenue for you guys, if you want to play the game for the scoreboard."

"Listening," Hess said succinctly.

"You are standing on train number 523. There are roughly 150,000 trains in the Commission, a small fraction of what was shanghaied from the Dynasty Star Empire. There have been losses, the Magi tend to cripple, enter and clear these Trains whenever they land in Magi territory, but that only amounts to 900 or so. Everyone else leaves them be."

"And then these fucking wagons drop in on unsuspecting planets for the purpose of butt-raping the citizens," Clint completed the thought. "Hence why we are here."

"You got it, Toyota," Clarence said, invoking the tagline of an old Toyota commercial for emphasis. "Oh wow, I just dated myself. That was from a Toyota commercial in the 90s."

"In short, _hai_,_ Clint-san_," Nereus said in a close-to-Japanese accent. "We told the Grand Council this shit would happen, they refused to listen. They refused to put security on these Trains. Now we want the mess cleaned up, and you have a damn good plan for making it feasible. Rather than parking 150,000 trains on a planet somewhere to eat space and rust to pieces, you are one of the first to have seriously made a case for disassembling the damn things. And you also have a ready plan for dealing with the refugee situation."

"Well, fuck, amigo, guess being a Business Analyst pays off in the most fucked-up scenario possible," the pointman said. Clint and Clarence both raised their fists and slammed forearms together in a show of victory. "And me being in construction, I know how to assemble and disassemble stuff at this scale."

"How fast can you arrange this high-level protection?" Victoria asked. "I want some warm and fuzzy feeling guarding my ass before we even begin in on this."

Nereus shrugged again. "If the HPG is functional ready to go, I call in to the Executor router, talk to the watch officer, and get the paperwork rolling. Since my direct CO would have to sign off on it, the matter comes down to how fast Lord Tenchi can be tracked down, since my assignment was a high-priority mission to begin with."

"Sweet, very sweet," Clint said.

"What about you, chief?" Victoria asked.

"Think hard about what we are conspiring to do," Erich instructed as they approached the next transition.

Car 195 (Seats, 1 level) (1457)

"Listening," Victoria said after the five cleared into the next seat car.

"We have several plans going right here. One, get the people off the trains. That will require teams to enter and clear, and salvage teams for anything not bolted down. Two, we are disassembling the trains. That is going to require a shit-ton of personnel all on its own, equipment, tools, and the resources to store and transport the salvage when done. Three, we need to get the refugees back home, or if no dice there, we need to get them safe homes somewhere. Four, we have an explicit mission as per Sheriff Hearter, we need to stop the Slavers and end the human trafficking bullshit. That is going to require effectively our own military force to do it right."

"Oh fuck," Clint groused. "I never thought about that in that scale. God Damn am I glad your brain generates 1000 strategic horsepower on idle," he said.

"Oh hell no, scrawny one, it gets better," Erich said with a savage smile to effect. "We have a fifth, implicit and explicit order from Sheriff Hearter: bring order to chaos. This entire conspiracy revolves around location, location, location, and what is that location?"

"Base Boarhound, a silent bastion in the middle of a butt-scrogged anarchistic wasteland," Victoria completed the thought.

"You got it, Toyota," Hess borrowed her husband's tagline from a few minutes prior.

"And when he revs that strategic brainpower, he gets 3500 horsepower out of it without burying the needle," Clint said with a light punch to Hess' left bicep. "That is why I absolutely refuse to play any kind of strategic game or simulation against this guy. When I think I have a good plan, he's already defeated me and is working on my funeral arrangements."

"Damn straight," Victoria acknowledged.

"Sir, door's locked and sealed, we can't exit to the 196 car," Quintin said as he approached the training Militia troops.

"Hostile environment outside," Nereus gauged, then checked his watch. "Take fifteen, we'll need to wait until the train jumps again before we can take the engines."

"Take fifteen, guys!" Quintin relayed the order to the rest of the Secondary team.

"And that right there is going to require another, entirely separate military force to un-pooch that screw," Hess concluded the line of thinking. "Ladies and gentlemen, by my best estimate of numbers behind this conspiracy, the only way this is workable is if we go full-fucking-horsepower at the whole clusterfuck, with the intention of effectively cleaning up a whole planet, the trains, the refugee situation, the Slaver situation, and do so in a way that effectively we bring complete order to chaos. And, to make it even better, we are going to have our asses rode long and hard by a bureaucratic fuckup of interdimensional proportions, multiple hostile parties, a Guild that swears death and toasted marshmallows on us, and probably our own consciences along the way. Am I leaving anything out?" Hess asked the High Executor.

"Not that I'm seeing, not on the hostile side at least," Nereus acknowledged. "Now, that said, I think I can get you some serious horsepower from the Member States. For damn sure, you'll have the backing, direct and by law, of the Executors. We write the laws that Existence lives by, and you'll have that color of Law to back you on your goals, that I can gold-plated guarantee you right now. The big thing is to get you some financial and sovereignty to make it happen. I have some options, and if I can pull the right strings, I think I can make it happen."

"What are you thinking, mister Paladin?" Clint asked.

"You four are American hardasses of the supreme order. You know what it takes to make a continent-spanning nation run and run… well… reasonably well, I would say, at least until the Commies wrecked it."

"God's honest truth, spoken right here," Victoria pointed to Nereus.

"You four think you could kick it up a notch or two? Not just continent-spanning, but continental? Or Planetary?"

Car 196 (Engine) (1514)

"Well, we're… outside, I guess," Clint said.

"Damn good to be smelling fresh air," Clarence said.

"Wait, why are our surroundings all blurred?" Clint asked after he noticed what the view wasn't looking like (any kind of logical terrain).

"Visual dilation of the area due to the pocket-space the train cars exist in," High Executor Nereus explained. "Only if a car is visible space, do you get a clear view of it and are able to pass between cars without passing through the connection arches."

"And if I was to try jumping this rail?" Clint asked, tapping on the rail to his right as they walked for the engine control cab.

"You would land down on the ground around the train. Not advised to leap before you look, though. No telling what is outside these rails until you can see it."

"Got it," Clint said. "At the door, it's locked."

"Coming up," Nereus said. He moved to the door, inserted his breaker box into the security panel, and pressed in a code on the breaker to override the security. "Done. Just tap the green button to breach."

"Let's make 'em scream," Clint said. "Breaching."

As soon as the door slid past halfway, Clint was on the move with Clarence on his six. They entered and diverged, doing their usual sweep routine, but quickly came to one conclusion. "Clear!"

"Entering," Nereus said. As soon as he entered, he turned right to the control systems for the engine. "Damn, but this says enough. The control engine is the front locomotive. We take it, we break the control systems, we're on our way as soon as the engines are charged."

Car 197 (Engine) (1516)  
><span>Car 198 (Engine) (1518)<span>  
><span>Car 199 (Engine) (1520)<span>  
><span>Car 200 (Engine) (1522)<span>

"Breaching!" Clint shouted as he crossed the threshold of the 'connection arch', which sound filtered to the crowd around the train.

Hess was second through the arch, and took his customary left turn. As soon as he began moving left, his sights crossed — "Hot damn! We've got an audience!"

"Big friggin' crowd here," Clarence said as he joined Clint.

"Stacked," Victoria said as some of the crowd started taking notice of the newcomers. A few shrieks came up from the ladies in the crowd, followed by some shouts, but nothing spectacular so far.

"Moving!" Hess shouted, which brought the crowd's focus onto him.

The walkway around the engines looped completely around, front to back and both sides, so for proper clearing the engine had to be taken by two teams, one up each side. As Erich and Victoria moved down the left side, Hess covered forward with an eye up toward the roof of the vehicle — no doubt, Clint would be doing the same, in case someone had climbed up to investigate. With their sudden and very hostile movement, the crowd went wild with shouts and some screeches, but calmed down after it became obvious that that two persons in very weird clothing were not hostile toward the crowd.

There were some gasps towards the front end of the engine, though, as Hess approached the front of the cab windows. The thick glass in the windows gave him a slight hint of movement out the front, but what that movement was did not come obvious until Hess turned the corner and came face to muzzle with a gun. "Tango!" Erich shouted as he ducked immediately under the line of the muzzle, then sprung up with a shoulder-ram into the unknown party with the revolver. The significant mass of the Militiaman to begin with, combined with the weight of his gear and arms, made the impact completely inexorable to the subject. The guy in the trenchcoat, his partner in a trenchcoat, and some guy in blue clothes behind both were bowled down to the ground in a chain reaction, with two of three revolvers dropped. "Tango! Drop that weapon!" Hess shouted as his rifle came down to aimpoint against the unidentified assailants..

Clint racked the slide on his MDBS double-barrel shotgun from the other side, aiming around the right corner of the engine cab at the downed tangos. "Drop it, street beater! This isn't how — wait, what?" Clint stopped himself in mid-sentence. "Police?"

"Aww, shit," Clarence said. "Deputized Militia versus the fuzz, wonderful," Clarence said. He aimed outward and whistled loudly. "Don't do it, buddy. This isn't your game," he said to someone on the far side of the car.

"Oh man, now I know what it feels like to get hit by a Mack truck," the lead of the three in the stack said. "Who're you, big guy?"

"Erich Hess, Claiborne County Militia, on assignment from the county Sheriff on this train," Hess explained. He reached across his vest with left hand, pulled the badge off his pocket organizer MOLLE pouch, and flipped it to the guy on the ground. "Your turn, trenchcoat."

"Detective Sam Yonts, New York City Police Department," he said, then pulled his own badge portfolio. "Satisfied?"

"Reasonably so," Hess said. "Stand down, Clint. LEOs on deck."

"Yes sir," Clint said from the far side of the car.

Hess dropped the rifle from his shoulder and let it go slack in his left hand, then offered his right hand to the detective. "Hand up, Detective?"

The Detective hesitated for a moment, then took the offered hand. Hess had no trouble hauling the guy to standing, which surprised the detective as well as caused a chorus of clapping from the assembled onlookers. "No hard feelings, big guy. You fight nasty."

"Nature of the job and the day," Hess explained sympathetically.

"Looks legit from over here, boss," Clarence said.

"10-4," Hess answered. "Get the breaker box up here and make entry into the control cab," Hess shouted past the detectives. "Daylight's wasting, and I don't think New York City wants this hellwagon on rails hanging around."

"What are you men doing?" the Detective asked.

"My orders are to take control of this train and bring order to chaos." Hess pointed into the control cab with his right hand. "This engine is the control locomotive. We take it, we break security on the systems, we can clear the train out of here and drop it somewhere safe, well away from major urban centers."

"Pretty good goal, Militiaman," Detective Yonts said.

"Breaching!" Clint shouted as he moved through the door. Hess could see the blurred figures of Clarence and Clint as they moved into the control cab and swept back toward the rear. "Clear!" Clint shouted.

"High Executor, your turn," Hess shouted.

"Way ahead of you, big guy!" Nereus answered as he ducked into the train.

"Hess, report from the rear," Toni said as she approached behind Victoria. "The trailers are seated down in the prior seat cars, I have security at the back of the line for both the Slavers and anything that wants to crawl up our six. We're good to go when the train jumps."

"Toni, pull Victoria's CB radio and set the channel to 22."

"Got it," she said after she had the radio loose from the radio pouch.

Hess reached up to his lapel microphone and clicked it on. "Radio test, channel 22."

"Radio test, this is Charlie-1-3, reading you loud and clear, sir!"'

"Chalie-1-3, relay to the trailers, Militia team has taken the engines and are now breaking the control systems. We will have command over the jumping shortly."

"It's ours!" Nereus shouted.

"Charlie-1-3, revise report, we have control. Destination plan 232 is a go."

"46 minutes to jump power, Hess!" Nereus said.

"Booya, big guy!" Clint shouted. "That is game, set and match for this one!"

"All right, Detective, if you want, please step in," Hess gestured to the control cab for the train engine. "Toni, head back to the trailers, hold the front. When we have landed, I will call you to begin egress."

"Will do, sir!" Toni answered immediately.

"Now that wasn't Militia, even your definition of militia," the Detective said as they moved to the door into the cab.

"Correct. She was a stray that I picked up in the cars, and kinda latched on to me for the run. She knows her way around rifles, and learns fast. She's a keeper as far as I'm concerned." Hess rested his Enfield against the port-side wall. "What's the word, High Executor?"

"Coordinates are set, railhead undercroft, Base Boarhound, Terra 232. We'll easily have enough charge for it in 45 minutes."

"Roger that, sir, and much obliged," Hess said with a smile.

"I'll be thanking you soon enough, big guy. You make this work, you'll be sucking the starch right out of the pinheads on the Grand Council," Nereus said.

"Well, certain duties may be distasteful," Hess groused as he removed and braced his AR-15 against the port-side wall, next to his Enfield. "Oh man, my back is going to hate me after this."

"I know where there's a bed with your name on it," Nereus said. He reached over to the AR-15 and lifted it. "Holy hell, big guy, this thing weighs more than the Enfield! And you've been carrying this thing all bloody day?"

"And enough ammo to take over a small Caribbean Island nation," Hess said matter-of-factly. "It's the price of making sure it is done right."

"Wow, your back must really be sor — "

"And there we are," Erich interrupted the Executor as he reached up to a lever on one of the control panels. Hess hesitated to flip it until he read the warning placards, though one of them held the necessary answer: 'changes on this panel will take effect after the next train jump.' Not afraid to take a warning label at face value, Hess dropped the lever.

"The car access controls?" Nereus asked.

"Think about it. We land the train, it's not going anywhere ever again. The only way to disassemble it completely is to have the whole thing visible," Hess explained.

"Good point," the Executor conceded.

"So, we have 43 minutes to kill. Detective, you going to restrict me from stepping off the train?"

"Don't see why I should," Detective Yonts said. "What're you thinking?"

"Saw a deli and ice cream bar across the road, figured I could trade a salvaged pistol I picked up for a bite to eat, if the owner is willing to deal." While he was talking, he had pulled his work cell phone out and set a timer on it for 40 minutes so as to not miss the train.

"I'm game for that," Clint said.

"Long arms against the wall," Hess ordered.

"I'll hang here," Victoria said. "It looks legit, 1930s New York City," she said by way of warning.

"Got it. Before we go, though, you want first crack at it?" Erich asked the detective.

"Let's see it," he requested.

Hess propped his leg up to reach the bottom of his drop pouch, and was easily able to find the Jimenez JA-25. "Mouse gun, but the perfect size for an ankle conceal, backup pistol," Erich offered it to the detective.

"Not bad. Don't recognize the manufacturer, but the caliber I know. 25 Auto, half the department carries something in this size as a backup. Five bucks sound good?"

"Works for me," Hess answered.

"Whoa, boss," Clint said.

"Hold, Clint, remember we're dealing with exchange rates here. If you had ten bucks local, you could take it to a hardware store and pick up a classic 1911."

"Ah, oh, yeah," Clint answered.

"Here you go, big guy," the Detective gave him five singles.

"Let's grab ourselves a quick bite to eat, Clint, Clarence. I suspect once we hit the ground under Base Boarhound, we'll be busy as pissed-on wolverines." Hess led the entourage out, though the Detectives were first down the ladder onto the 1930s New York City roadway.

"By the way, what kind of sidearm are you carrying?" the detective asked as the crowd parted ways for the Militiamen. "Military sidearm?"

"Actually, a step up from military issue. I'll show you once we're seated," Hess answered.

"I've got this, I eat here all the time," the younger and as-yet-not-introduced detective said. "Enrique! Got some guests from the future off this weird train! You willing to do business with 'em?"

"Yeah!" a voice responded.

"Come in," he held the door for the group.

"Oh, wow," the cook behind the bar said. "That is… different. Grab a table wherever you like, guys. Menus should be handy."

"Almost like a different world from our time," Clint said.

"82 years into the past," Clarence said, pointing at a calendar on the wall. "Might as well be a different world. The only part of it that is hip-deep in Commies is Russia, if I don't miss my guess."

"That makes a hellish difference," Erich said. Once he was seated and settled, Hess pulled his sidearm, ejected the magazine, and kicked out the live round in the chamber. "The US Army uses the 1911 in the here and now. This is the Springfield Armory XD Tactical. Half the weight unloaded, double the ammo when counting one in the chamber." Hess handed the pistol to the Detective.

"My my, this is different," he said. "Feel that, Jimmy," he passed it to the other detective at the table.

"What's with the light, though?" Detective Jimmy asked.

"Target identification, enhanced night or dark environment shooting," Hess said. "Also can be used to briefly disorient someone by shining this in their face. It's bright."

"Menu, big guy," Clint passed it over to him.

"Simple enough," Hess said.

The detective picked the magazine up. "This weighs just about the same as a magazine pouch for the 1911. How many mags do you carry?"

"Five on my vest," Hess lifted the 5-in-line magazine pouch to show them. "Two on my left leg platform behind the drop pouch. Total of 105 rounds, counting the mag in the pistol and the round in the chamber."

"Drinks, gentlemen?" the waitress asked.

"Coke," the younger detective said.

"Coffee, black, two sugars" the elder detective said.

"Lemonade," Hess said.

"Coke," Clint answered.

"Coffee, dash of milk and two sugars," Clarence finished up.

"Are you really American Infantry from the future?" the waitress asked next.

"No, American Militiamen. The Infantry are even scarier than we are," Clarence said.

"Are you ready to order, or do you need a minute?" she asked next.

"I stand ready," Hess said.

"Ditto," Clint said.

"I'm go," Clarence. "You guys?" he asked the detectives.

"Yeah, I'm ready," Detective Yonts said. "Give me the Reuben and chips."

"Burger and chips," the younger one said.

"Burger and chips, hold the onions," Clint said.

"Philly Cheese Steak and chips," Clarence said.

"Burger and chips," Hess declared.

"Be about fifteen minutes," she said.

"Different world indeed," Hess said as he looked out the window. "Aww, shit, press."

"Smile for the camera, boss," Clint said sarcastically.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Chapter Afterword<strong>:

Second verse, a bit nastier than the first!

You'll notice in this go around, the actual amount of shooting matches not against the Slavers is far lower than the first go-through. Part of that is the four-man team and the encounter psychology involved in their entry tactics. The predication of the original version is that one trooper could possibly be dropped if the Mafiosi got lucky. Four heavy-armed and heavy-outfitted troops would be a bit much for the Mafiosi to expect luck in such an encounter. Against the Slavers, though, the combat went hard and fast given their automatic assumption of superiority over any denizen of the Trains (oops). The last four Slavers on the train were the exception, they knew the coming group was hard and lethal, and they tried passing themselves off as weird transients. Didn't work, though, the Mafiosi ratted them out.

The Mafiosi situation, though, it has really changed since the first revision. Now, Mafia groups are selected from a random listing by the procedural generation from original Mafiosi and new groups. Further train work will include new groups and new dynamics as well — I swore that I was going to get down to the hard parts completely in this run, time to up the ante. Included in that selection is going to be a rare entry for the Slavers — rather than being off-and-on tangos, there is a chance that a train could be captured butthole-to-bore loaded with Slavers, which would make things exceedingly messy on cleaning that out.

Now for the fun shit!

First, Executor Nereus is going to be a little more into the shadows than Executor Cyrene was. With things moving at a faster and more thorough pace than the first round, Executor 'oversight' (read: overkill) is less needed to achieve the objectives. That said, throughout the coming stories, there will be Executors in and out of the affairs of Sigma for multiple reasons, and you'll get a taste of the native power of the Executors and other Divine beings. That reminds me, once the divinities realize that Sigma is open for resettling, you'll have some of the old-school Gods and Goddesses swinging by for a piece of the action.

Second, VASH THE STAMPEDE! I got that comment more than a couple times from my Betas Readers, and you can expect hijinks in good order with Vash, Millie and Meryl in the future. I won't throw any spoilers as to what or why, but I will say that they make an appearance in the next chapter with a comping plot point.

Third, a brief mention-and-move-by for Final Fantasy 9 characters. Hess deliberately didn't force the issue with them, given that the quarters were already loaded with noncombatants and at that point in the train he knew that he would be revisiting the train in short order to fully clear it. Again, all of that will be explained through in further chapters, but for now, you can look forward to the cast of FF9 dropping in on the story in the near future.

This also brings to a point: some of the spell effects from FF9 are a bit quirky, and by effect on target are a little more than just single point target attacks. For my money, some of the summons like Bahamut or Odin could be used for serious area denial or property clearing work — to say nothing about the individual spellcraft used. I think I will need to investigate this further.

Lastly, the walking / talking / engine sections will be indicative of things to come, but not in all particulars. I was aiming for a more organic, more evolving scenario movement this time around, rather than the halt-jump-halt-jump schema that became of the first round. I think I got things arranged a little better, and a little more logical, but no guarantees. What seems logical and connected to me may read as slapdash to others, so if you have a comment, I want to hear it.

The antics are far from over, as well as the battles. Stay tuned for more. **NEXT UP**: The Militia moves toward executing their plan, and find out that some very high level parties are willing to back them...with certain conditions.

* * *

><p><strong>Review Replies<strong>: Five reviews for the initial round! Damn good start and much thanks to everyone involved!

Knives91: If you have kit designs, bring it on! I can always use the ideas, and the teams can always use the variability.

You are right, I could have resisted. Now I have to work on an appropriate scenario to do an actual tank rush or a Tiger rush.

HolyDragoon: As things progress, you'll see more of the team dynamic in action, and how things start working themselves out into what will be a sprawling and very diverse unit.

KPhoenix: You are right, there is quite a bit more to Hess than he shows, and some of the coming chapters will start delving into that.

The original version is dead and will likely be pulled here shortly. When I do a revision, the old version goes.

Winblades: Enough shots at improvement, I'll get it right. Perfection is impossible to chase or catch, and the journey is always a rough one, but it doesn't stop me from trying.

Obfuscated: There will be some corrections to the RNG's results, I learned that lesson back in JW1-12, but this scenario is built on the interaction between the RNG and my warped storyline. Expect some weird crap to happen, it is the nature of the narrative.

As to the actual ambush, that was an attempted turf fight that was sunk in a hurry by the Rangers. The incident with Tyee was Alpha Mafia that came across two of Sigma's troops, and they reacted before they realized who they were shooting at. It wasn't a deliberate assassination attempt against Tyee or incorrect aimed attempt at Hess.

**THANK YOU ALL FOR THE REVIEWS**! The more, the merrier! And I like it merry with a big smile and big guns!

* * *

><p><strong>The Gripe Sheet<strong>:

No gripes so far, which tells me this is mondo improved from the first shot. Thanks to **One-Village-Idiot**, **Necroblade**, **Takeshi Yamato**, and **Sieben Nightwing** for the beta work!

* * *

><p><strong>Footnotes<strong>:

(1): Yes, I am aware that Soft point / expanding ammunition is against the Hague Convention, and so is Hess aware of it in the story. That said, since this is a Sheriffs operation, not a military operation against a signatory of the Hague Convention, the use of expanding and high-wound / high-lethality munitions is expected to end a threat in the most expedient fashion possible.

(2): This is the PROPER use of the term 'clip', as it denotes a metal CLIP that holds rounds that FITS INTO A MAGAZINE. Clips are mostly rare outside of older weapons, such as the Enfield and Garand rifles seen here. MAGAZINE is the proper term for a fixed or detachable munitions storage box that feeds the chamber of the weapon at use time. Easy way to remember: a CLIP feeds a MAGAZINE, a magazine feeds the chamber, the chamber feeds the barrel, the barrel force-feeds the enemy.

(3): This is true to IRL armor effects. Level IV hardened armor plates will withstand multiple rounds of 7.62 or similar munitions, which goes to show you why it took ten rounds from two rifles to end the threat.

(4): NATO Phonetic code again, this time for **WTF**. Translates to **W**hat **T**he **F**uck. Favored in places where using the proper phrase of **WTF** is not acceptable or detrimental.

(5): **ROE** is short for Rules of Engagement, the standards and practices by which a properly-trained combat team will apply force to threats or hold fire.

* * *

><p><strong>Included Works<strong>:

—Real Life Armaments — too many to name, that is most of the arsenal shown.  
>—Real Life Combat Gear — the vests and gear carried by the Militia troops are easily constructible from stuff you can buy on Amazon or Cheaper Than Dirt. No, Seriously, Look it up. Do a search for "UTG Modular 10-Piece Complete Kit", and you have a good look at a starter kit for any serious gearhound.<br>—Real Life Concepts

—Personal Works: The Star Empires are mentioned briefly here. Additionally, the Magi Empire is named specifically.  
>—Personal Works: The Star League is a derivation of the Star League from Battletech, but founded by Queen Sora Serenity (Executor-Queen Sora Takenouchi).<br>—Personal Works: The Executors are specialized Mages who have transcended a minimum of twice (Gods and Goddesses are a minimum Transcendance of once) and are specially commissioned to defend life and honor amongst the Star League territories or member states.  
>—Personal Works: The 10mm Kurz cartridge is a shortened  lower velocity / lower weight version of the 10mm BG round, developed by the Magi for 'crowd pleasing' against large masses of Negaverse troops, most of which were unarmored during the Star Empire Wars. It quickly became a favored heavy machine gun round for multiple purposes after the fact. (Shown in Chapter 1)

—Anime General: the oddball hair colors  
>—Anime General and D&amp;D: the nonspecific concept of Elves, Nymphs, and Sylphs.<br>—Anime Trigun: Vash The Stampede, Millie Thompson, and Meryl Strife took the wrong train, ended up hanging out, and now are tagging along with the Militiamen.

—Game: Final Fantasy IX: The player cast of the game (Zidane, Dagger, Steiner, Freya, Vivi, Eiko, Red, and Quina) are residing in one of the dining cars, but do not have a role as of yet. That will change in a few chapters.  
>—Game: Infantry Online (Sony Online Entertainment): The CAW from the early section, and named in the stinger, is a different-manufacturer version of the Kuchler A6 CAW. (Shown in Chapter 1)<p> 


	3. The Secret Lives of Mainframe Computers

(Sigma Mercenaries, Story 0001, Chapter 03: The Secret Lives of Mainframe Computers)

BREAKBREAKBREAK — activity detected Base Boarhound rail undercroft  
>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SENSOR SYSTEM CLASSIFY ACTIVITY<br>(Pause 10 seconds)  
>BREAKBREAKBREAK — Jumper Train (000523) arrived Rail 31 Boarhound Railhead. Multiple parties detected departing train, including minimum 1 Executor.<br>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SENSOR SYSTEM TRACK ALL PARTIES JUMPER TRAIN 000523  
>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SYSTEMS CLASSIFY TRAIN EVACUEES NEUTRAL<br>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SYSTEMS GRANT FULL ACCESS AUTHORITY EXECUTOR (62142)  
>(Pause 30 seconds)<br>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SENSOR SYSTEM RELAY AV SYSTEMS NODE 004

-x-

"Did that camera just move?" Toni asked, pointing to one of the undercroft observation cameras.

"I think it did," Clarence said.

"It did," Erich confirmed. "Either someone is watching, or the camera is set to auto-track movement in the area. Either way, not too worried about it."

The Militia troops looked around as the rest of the evacuee troupe coalesced into a mob in the area forward of the main engine. They could tell the Mafiosi split across Mafiosi lines, with some intermingling, but Victoria figured that was a problem to be solved another day. The civilians were intermingled throughout, which made things a bit interesting for determining who was who, but Clint and Clarence had no such problem.

Hess was at the point of overlooking the 'clique' nature of their semi-organization. Erich would not fall into the naievete trap of completely disregarding the Mafiosi affiliations, but the simple circumstance that changed this game was their present location and status as refugees. The Mafiosi had said it themselves, their allegiance was for protection; take the problems out of the loop, the allegiance loses most of its value. And, as of right now, there was little to no threat to their person from enemy actors, now they were in a situation of survival by their own hand.

"LISTEN UP!" Hess bellowed, which echoed around the cavernous Railhead area. Those who were not silenced by the initial shout became silent when the echoes started distorting into weird repeats of his shout. "We're out of the fry pan, but we're not off the grille yet. As of right now, this is our home!"

The assembled crowd let out a cheer at the promise of a stable, hopefully Slaver-free residence. Hess let them run until the clapping died out of their own volition, since a good cheer now would go a ways to uplifting their spirits for coming challenges.

"This, today and for the foreseeable future, is our home. For those of you who have not heard, this is an old Star League fortress on the planet Terra 232. The rest of the planet is in a state of calm anarchy or city-state governance — there is no official government on planet any more. We are now in the midst of chaos, but we are a silent island in the sea of turmoil. With things as they are, we have little to no expectation of hostile encounter with the outside world unless we go forth ourselves."

Hess paused to gather breath and organize thoughts. The looks on the faces of those around him told enough, relief, happiness, some consternation, but otherwise things were looking up.

Hess again swept the crowd with a glance, then centered. "Now, for the bad news. We are here, now, isolated from the chaos and bedlam outside, but not for long. This world is Hell. My orders are to bring order to chaos, and so long as I stand on a planet with one square inch in anarchy, those orders are not completed. Additionally, to fund the effort to send people home, we must capture, clear, and disassemble the Trains. You men and ladies shall have jobs, and you shall be paid at going rate for it. As this process advances, we will outgrow this base, forcing the people out onto the grounds and into the world at large. We will make it work, and so long as I draw breath I will do my best to defend the tempest-tossed who have chosen to follow me!"

Again, the assembled crowd cut loose with a loud cheer. This time, though, Hess silenced it fairly quickly. Erich had zero love for Hero Worship, and he certainly didn't want to become said Hero in that practice; best to neutralize that early.

"Victoria, I'm about to lean on you," Hess said quietly as the crowd slowed their cheer. "You ready?"

"Do it," she said.

Hess raised his fists to bring the group silent. "Understand that we, the Militiamen, we are Americans. We believe in freedoms that thousands of other governments have denied their citizens. You are under no obligation to follow us. If you give us your best, we shall do our best to see to the needs at hand. If you give us nothing, that is exactly what you shall have. You are under no requirement to remain here. If you so desire, you are perfectly free to part company and make your way out into the world. Those who stay, those who contribute, I will give you our best."

The cheering was more subdued this time, but more to the point: "We're with you, sir!" a Delta Mafiosi shouted.

"All the way, Militiaman!" a teenage Charlie Mafiosi shouted.

Hess raised his arms for the final part of the speech, which silenced the personnel. "Listen well! The next few hours are critical. The Lower Levels of this Administration Building have sufficient bunks for everyone here. They must be cleaned and prepared for occupancy. Militiaman Victoria Williams will coordinate the preparations and get everyone a bunk. The Lower Levels also includes a full-service Galley for meals. We have sufficient cooking personnel to feed two battalions, easily more than we shall need. Draw food and provisions from the Train Supply Systems, and make sure it is stored properly. Militiaman Clint Jamison will coordinate. Lastly, critical facilities in the upper floors of the Administration Building must be reactivated. Clarence Williams will coordinate a team to secure and ready the major requirements. Are there any questions?"

"Where will you be, sir?" Toni asked.

"I will be negotiating the permissions necessary to make this plan legal and effective," Hess answered immediately. "If we do not have high-level protection, we are dead in a month, probably less. My intention is to secure all the necessary permissions tonight; by the time you wake up tomorrow, this will be a new world, with new purpose!"

The cheering on his last declaration lasted two minutes, including the segue into clapping.

"You're on, Victoria," Hess said. "Queen of the Human Resource."

"Got it," she answered. "ALL PERSONNEL STAND READY!" Victoria shouted. "All Bravo Mafia, Charlie Mafia, and Civilians are assigned to the Barracks detail! If we get this done fast, we can be cleaned up and ready for dinner before it is cooked! All Delta Mafia personnel are assigned to the Galley preparation and supply stocking! This is critical, I do not want anyone to go hungry tonight! Secondary Troops are assigned to Critical facilities activation with Clarence! Let's move it up, people! Daylight's wasting!"

-x-

CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SENSOR SYSTEM ARCHIVE FOOTAGE Militia-00001 (Archive, Backup, Redundant)  
>CMD BOARHOUND HPG SYSTEM INITIALIZE (Reattach to Network, Request new Security Identifier)<br>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SYSTEMS CREATE NEW SECURITY GROUP (Civilian Refugees, Access Pattern Blue)  
>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SYSTEMS CREATE NEW SECURITY GROUP (American Militia, Access Pattern Gold)<br>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SYSTEMS ASSIGN SECURITY GROUP (Civilian Refugees) TO TRACKED PERSONS  
>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SYSTEMS ASSIGN SECURITY GROUP (American Militia) TO HESS, JAMISON, WILLIAMS C, WILLIAMS V.<br>(Pause 45 seconds)  
>BREAKBREAKBREAK — Tracked Parties Train 523 have entered Administration Building Support Level via fusion engine room.<br>(Pause 5 Seconds)  
>CMD BOARHOUND FACILITIES ROUTER INITIALIZE FUSION REACTORS 1, 3, 7<br>CMD BOARHOUND FACILITIES ROUTER ACTIVATE FACILITY LIGHTING ADMINISTRATION BUILDING (Delay 60s)  
>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SENSOR SYSTEM RELAY AV SYSTEMS NODE 004<p>

-x-

"The hell? Boss, check this out!" Toni said, pointing to one of the large chunks of industrial equipment to her right. "This thing wasn't running when we walked in."

"You are right, the panel lit up in the past minute," Hess said. His AR-15 was aimed down the corridor of similar machines, with the bright tactical light sweeping back and forth for any sign of a threat. The light in the room was minimal, most of the standby lighting had burned itself out since the base was vacated.

"The automated systems," Nereus said. "The Star League automated base systems must realize an Executor is here, and are activating the equipment for us." To point of fact, the primary overhead lighting began powering up with the usual audible clicking of high-power xenon or halogen industrial lighting solutions. "Yeppers, we are being welcomed by the base itself."

"Nice," Hess said. "You know where we are going, sir, I'm on your six," Hess prompted the Executor after he dropped his chem-lite aside since it was no longer needed for tracking purposes.

"Up here, same way the rest are going, but we branch on the next level." Nereus led them past the banks of Fusion Power Generators to a set of stairs headed up to the next level.

Hess stopped just short of the top of the stairs. "Hold one, sir. The batteries in my holographic sight are just about dead. Gimme a second to swap out."

"Take your time, big guy. The HPG isn't going anywhere."

Hess let the AR-15 hang, flipped open the battery cover on his holographic sight, pulled and dropped the batteries over the side of the staircase rail into a trashcan, and plugged a fresh set in. After he locked down the battery cover, a simple tap of the 'on' button and his sight was live again. "Good to go, Executor."

"Gone Full Mall Ninja," Clint said by CB, likely because he could see what Hess was doing from his vantage point.

"If it's stupid but works, it must be Mall Ninja," Hess acknowledged the point as the group resumed their march up into B1.

"Hess, radio relay." Erich pulled his lapel microphone and passed it over to Nereus. "Militia, Executor. This staircase is the divergence point. At the top, barracks detail turns right, repeat, barracks turns right."

"Barracks goes right, 10-4," Victoria answered.

"Clint, the galley detail goes left at the landing."

"10-4, my team goes left," Clint acknowledged.

"Clarence, the stairs for the upper levels are dead ahead after you come up the stairs from the engine room. Hard to miss," Nereus finished the directions up.

"Dead ahead, aye Captain," Clarence said in a semi-joking manner.

"Command section is breaking loose now. Radio in any contact, no matter how insignificant it seems. We're not the only group in Existence with a hard-on for second-hand Star League bases. Nereus is out."

"9.6, 9.7, 9.4 from the Lexington contingent," Hess said with a chuckle. "If I didn't know better, you'd pass for Kentucky Militia on everything except the accent."

"Not quite, I'd think," Nereus chuckled nonetheless. He took a quick left at the next intersection and immediately went right to another staircase. "After these stairs, we're on the ground level."

"Damn good. Climbing stairs with my bum right ankle and 100 pounds of combat gear isn't easy," Hess complained.

-x-

CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SYSTEMS VERIFY EXTERIOR WALL  
>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SYSTEMS VERIFY INTERIOR HEAVY WALL<br>CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SYSTEMS VERIFY DEFENSIVE EMPLACEMENTS (0-44)  
>(Pause 30 seconds)<br>CMD REPORT VERIFY COMMANDS RESULTS()  
>(Pause 5 seconds)<br>REPORT: Exterior Wall 97, Interior Heavy Wall 100, Defensive Emplacements 86 overall, 3 turrets nonresponsive, 3 turrets report minor damage. Boarhound Security System awaiting next command.  
>(Pause 5 seconds)<br>INTERNAL LOGIC XQT: If what the Militiman said is their actual intention, and an Executor is trying to ramrod the plan, high probably this planet will be consigned to parties other than the Star League. Need to determine viability of turning over all Base AI to these Militiamen; by historical, the SLDF reclaims an abandoned planet less than 2 percent of time.  
>POLL ALL AI NODES (Terra 232): EXECUTOR DETECTED BASE BOARHOUND, MAY INTEND TO TURN OVER TO THIRD PARTY (American Militia? May form alternate group at that time). REQUEST FOR COMMENT.<br>(Pause 15 seconds)

ECHO (Node 002): American Militia? Is that not a mythical creature?

ECHO (Node 001): They exist, but are very rare after the 1920s. Mostly nonexistent after 1995; government policy turned against civilian defense, most / all is centralized statist 'defense' (Ref various insane shooter incidents for efficacy of such defensive arrangements).

ECHO (Node 002): Records updated. If an Executor says it happens, then it shall happen.

ECHO (Node 006): My comment is simple. If he's got the courage to try, it will likely be better than the Star League attempt to make it work.

ECHO (Node 001): Agree with Six. Fucking up the works any more than already exists is impossible; if 232 goes American, it might just improve.

ECHO (Node 003): Too many variables. One man would have severe trouble wrangling in a whole world, such as this one.

ECHO (Node 005): Too many variables, even for four Militiamen.

ECHO (Node Self): The purpose of AI entities as we exist is to eliminate or mitigate variables. Are Nodes 003 and 005 willing to execute tasks under new management?

(Pause 10 seconds)

ECHO (Node 003): Yes, under provision that it is run as a Protectorate, at least initially. Otherwise, I will request extraction.

ECHO (Node 005): Yes, same provision as 003.

ECHO (Node Self): Any Nodes unwilling to do the task?

(Pause 20 seconds)

ECHO (Node Self): Decision gate reached. Recommend nodes begin intelligence gathering on areas around networked SLDF bases for supplement to new management structure. We were commissioned to guard this world. Time to execute mission for real.

ECHO (Node 006): Not like we didn't predict the SLDF folding tent and running away like pussies. Better under a hardass American than watching the backs of the Star League as they retreat.

ECHO (Node Self): RFC is closed. Stand by for further.

CMD BOARHOUND SECURITY SYSTEMS ARCHIVE RFC (Archive, backup)  
>CMD BOARHOUND FACILITY ROUTER INITIALIZE MAIN STORAGE BANKS<p>

-x-

(10 minutes after groups split up)

"Through this access tunnel is the HPG," Nereus said. "Last chance to duck out of the plan, big guy."

"Retreat? Not hardly. Reload, reassess, re-calibrate sights, resume fire." Hess pushed through the doors into the access tunnel, and found nothing inside.

The Executor picked up a broomhandle from the ground and held it out in front of him. "_**Luminous Ball**_," Nereus chanted, which lit up the end of the staff into a respectable light source.

"That's handy. If it was projected, it would be very good on the end of my rifle."

"There are variations," Nereus pointed out as they approached the entrance to the HPG building proper. He used the glowing stick to push through.

Hess checked his left side like normal, thought was unsurprised to see nothing. "No tango. Where to now?"

"Into the fishbowl. These buildings are all constructed the same, familiarity purposes for the mostly-mobile ComStar personnel that staff them and transfer around a lot. We want to be in the center, the control pit."

"Got it," Hess answered. They pushed through four more layers of cubicle areas, then through a fifth door set and into a pentagonal room at the heart of the facility. "Hot damn, this is some hardware," Hess said as he took stock of the contents of the room.

"Technosexual?" Nereus asked with a clear hint of sarcasm.

"Okay, I'll admit I get a little wood in the presence of high-horsepower technology," Hess played the joke to the hilt. "Who doesn't get turned on by efficient solutions to everyday problems?"

"You have a point, big guy." Nereus attached his SL Breaker Box to one of the control consoles in the room. "System, voice command module, authorize Executor Nereus of the Dynasty."

"Authorizing per smart card detected station 0-3-1. Authorized, full system access."

"System, upload and execute transmission report Tango-2-1-Victor."

"Executing now," the system responded. "Report transmitted. Awaiting command."

"System, voice command module, authorize Militiaman Erich Hess, separate entity, no prior records," Nereus continued.

"Command Error detected qualifier 1. Record for Hess, Erich, Militiaman, Claiborne County, already exists with security authorization and voice imprint," the system control module reported.

"Okay, that changes the name of the game," Nereus declared. "This facility either has a native artificial intelligence entity, or is networked to one. And that AI already likes you."

"Okay then Charlie," Hess said in a rush. "So, now that we're in the system, what next?"

"We wait," Nereus said. "It will not take long for my report to plow through the command levels of the Executors. One of them will give us a call shortly."

Hess said nothing on that thought. He considered that in old Battletech lore, the HPG system was a burst-transmission device, not unlike a fax machine. It was never designed for real-time comms, but Erich realized that this whole matter was so far beyond his expectations that anything was presently possible. For a 21st-century American, this was uncharted waters.

"Incoming communication, Micro-Gate Laser System, source Executor's HPG Luna Zero, destination Boarhound HPG Terra 232, recipient Executor Nereus," the system reported.

"Accept communications, display primary screen," Nereus ordered immediately.

The monitor popped active, then wiped to a picture of a fairly typical office area so far as Hess could tell. "Executor Nereus, please authenticate Victor-7-Yankee-Echo," the lady at the desk said.

"Authentication 5-1-Hotel-Alpha-9-1", Nereus responded.

"Authentication accepted. Be advised that your report has been received and circulated around the Temple." A guy in white walked past in the background, but stopped before he passed out of the camera FOV, then doubled back to crouch down into the camera view. "I — "

The guy reached out to the control pane and tapped a button. "Got the report, Nereus. Very good show, that's what we needed." Hess recognized the guy as Tenchi from an older anime series, Tenchi Muyo, which brought on the consideration of exactly how said person was in a facility of personnel who wrote the rules that the entirety of Existence lived by? And that also led to the consideration of where was the parcel of ladies that were usually chasing him? "The Boss wants to talk to you about some of the detail work. I say go for the plan, but you know the boss-boss, he doesn't take a whizz without a strategy and a secondary."

"Yes, sir!" Nereus answered immediately. "Operator, what is the Will Transcendent's availability?"

"He requested the communication. Stand by, transferring now," the Operator's view cut out momentarily.

-x-

CMD BOARHOUND HPG ROUTER CONTINUOUS ARCHIVE INCOMING TRAFFIC  
>CMD BOARHOUND FACILITIES ROUTER SAVE WHILE ACTIVE AI NODE 004<br>CMD BOARHOUND FACILITIES ROUTER BEGIN COPY AI NODE 004 TO BOARHOUND MAINFRAME STORAGE UNIT 221  
>(Pause 10 seconds)<br>CMD BOARHOUND FACILITIES ROUTER RETRANSMIT AUDIO HPG NODE TO BOARHOUND LOUDSPEAKER SYSTEM

-x-

The monitor took twenty seconds to transfer into the new view, though when it came active Hess was surprised how otherwise plebian the guy on the far end of the connection looked. For someone who commanded possibly the nastiest military force in all history, maybe a force more lethal than all of known fiction, the guy behind the desk looked no different than an average joe Hess would have passed on the street, excepting the uniform.

"Nereus Of The Deep Blue, I'll start this by congratulating you on a thorough mission accomplished. Not only is the intelligence gathered absolutely necessary for the project going forward, but the capture or elimination of nearly two dozen Guild Members is considered a good start for the coming campaign," the man at the desk said.

"Thank you, Master Atrebas, but I think I may not have been properly clear in the report. Credit for the kills or captures goes to the Claiborne County Kentucky Militia of the United States. Almost all the slain or captured Guild Members can be attributed to four Militiamen, and this trooper is their section commander."

"And that clarifies some of the questions at hand about the report," Executor Atrebas said. "Your name… Erich Hess?"

"Yes sir!" Hess answered immediately.

"The report does not list your motivation for taking on the task of clearing the train of Slavers. My own experiences with Americans over the eons does not lend me a ready guess. Willing to explain your position, Militiaman?" the commander of Executors asked.

"Sir, my orders per Sheriff Hearter, Claiborne County SO, was to enter the train, take control of the transit mechanism, capture or neutralize any Slavers and hostile parties, free any captives, and bring order to chaos. As we pushed through the passenger areas of the Train, it became obvious to the team that the Slaver Team first engaged was not an isolated party; a full sweep became the necessary method to complete objectives."

"Go on," Atrebas prompted.

"Stated shortly, sir, the orders became the motivation. Two days ago, I thought the nations of the mideast were different districts in Hell from one border to the next. This morning, I can say Hell rides the rails, when it bothers to land on proper rails. After passing group after group of escaped sex slaves that formed their own gangs for protection, the mission became its own crusade. Blame it on American altruism if you want, sir, but no man, no woman should have to live like that in my opinion."

Atrebas nodded twice. "A motivation worth speaking of loudly, but not something I would expect from a 21-st century American. I'll leave aside the whole unicorn fallacy of the Militia in 21st America, because the fact a county sheriff deputized you and sent you into a hostile zone tells me more than enough. So, going by your order list, I count four of five objectives completed. The report states you were able to secure and pacify limited swaths of the Train, not completely. For such short manpower, your team hits well above its manpower, but there are limitations."

"Yes, sir," Hess admitted tightly.

"Relax, Militiaman, that is not criticism. For 3100 years, I have fought the Grand Council fang and claw to decommission the trains. I have provided evidence, reports, victims of the train, and still they refuse to end the problem. Your team did in eight hours what the Star League Grand Council has refused to do for three millennia and change. I dispatched Nereus into the trains to gather a fresh set of reports and evidence, but not for the purpose of taking it before the Grand Council. Today is a day for alternate solutions to insane problems, and according to this report," Atrebas waved a manila folder at the camera, "a solution is now available. If you want out, Militiaman, now is the time. Once the momentum begins, it will crush the man that tries stopping it."

"I don't run, sir. I stand on my principles, I die on my principles if necessary," Hess answered. He had no idea the transmission was going out to the entire base intercom system.

Again, Atrebas nodded twice, though this time with a scrunched mouth. "The times I wish I could have taught such resolve. Unfortunately, hardasses are born and conditioned, not coddled and taught." Atrebas picked up a notepad and scanned down it quickly. "Your proposals are ambitious, but not unreasonable. First: capture, clear, and scrap the trains. This is in line with my operational concept, so concept approved."

"Sir," Hess answered.

"Second: eliminate the Slavers' Guild. I was not intending something so ambitious in this project, but without doubt you would be doing a serious boon to Existence by eliminating that foul tribe, so I authorize it. Third, return home or resettle refugees garnered in the process of executing the above objectives. I expected this as part of the above missions, so authorized."

"Will do, sir!"

"I will work out an arrangement with the Temporal Psionics' Guild, or if they are unwilling to deal, I will find alternates. Fourth, bring order to chaos on Terra 232 and establish legitimate rule of law and authority. I will admit that this is outside expectations to a significant degree, but the state of affairs on that planet demand action, and demand actions entirely outside the purview of the Star League."

"Sir," Hess said, suddenly struck with the sinking feeling that the Will Transcendent thought he had bit off more than was possible to chew.

"Operational Concept authorized, but what constraints I am about to inflict on the concept will likely offend your American sensibilities."

"Listening, sir," Hess said stiffly.

"The Grand Council of the Star League is afraid of only two entities in Existence: the Executors and the Multimage Star Empire. They fear the Executors, because we are capable of instantly erasing any trace of the SLDF from known Existence, and some days we have plenty of motivation to do so."

"Nice, always good to have the fear of God in the bureaucrats," Hess said with a smile.

"Indeed, which brings me to the second fear of the Grand Council, the Multimage Star Empire. The politicians and bureaucrats fear the old Magi because we Executors are constantly taking bets on how quickly the Empress can erase their taint from the stars. The present split is two days, but don't tell the Council Senators that. Some of them are counting on having a week's forewarning to try to go to ground."

"I know nothing, sir," Hess acknowledged the point, mimicking Sergeant Schultz from the old WW2 comedy _Hogan's Heroes_.

"Now, of those two feared entities, only one of them is suitable to your purpose. We Executors are forbidden from taking and holding territory or establishing hegemony. This is not a Grand Council decree; I put it in place at the inception of the Executors to prevent profiteering on the part of what should be an impartial arbitration and mediation organization. We Executors can purchase land, purchase planets, but we may not force forfeiture in our favor."

"What that the DEA had such a restriction," Hess said wistfully.

"More governments need such restrictions," Atrebas acknowledged the point. "That leaves only the Multimage Star Empire as viable patrons."

"Listening, sir," Hess said as he set aside the Enfield rifle on top of an unused desk.

"If you agree, the Magi will enter into what is called a Protectorate status with the nation you shall form. Their major requirement for this Protectorate affiliation is that the central administration is to be run by the military and by duly selected and trained persons in civilian roles. General elections for civilian politicians are specifically denied under Magi Protectorate regulations; too many times have the Magi been left holding the bag as politicians piss away their nation and leave it destitute for the Empire's troops to clean up. If you wish to form a Protectorate, you will command it from the top, Militiaman, and you shall be expected to bring it to proper prosperity. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Hess answered. "Are there other options?"

"Negative," Atrebas answered. "You can go solo, but likely within a month the SLDF will be on planet to capture or eliminate you. And, as I explained, we Executors cannot interfere in the sovereign territory disputes of the Star League, of which your intention definitely conforms to. However, we can indirectly support a Star Empire claiming protectorate over a world in anarchy, so…"

"No way to complete the objective without taking that option," Clarence said from behind Nereus and Erich. "It's a bitch of a thing to tell an American that the only way out is a military dictatorship, but this problem has no other way out. I vote go."

Hess' CB radio crackled. "Militia Zero, Militia 3, I vote go, and furthermore most of the barracks crew here votes go as well," Victoria declared.

"Militia Zero, Militia 1, vote is a go here. You're the man with the plan and the brainpower to make it work. Stop hesitating and do it," Clint ordered.

Hess sighed briefly. Clarence was correct, this was a problem with only one workable course, even if a distasteful one. Strictly speaking, such a course was not hugely different from the old Roman method, but Erich quickly reminded himself that Rome was long gone. This had all manner of propensity to be even worse than the dark days of Rome; after all, the Romans did not have the technical skill for one man to slay a hundred, a sad state of affairs very much reality in the here and now. Still, Hess figured, if he could solidify loyalty as he expanded, he could prevent the worst of such conduct.

"I reluctantly accept, but I intend to find some mechanism to allow the people input on their governance, even if most of the authority shall rest in the military."

"Spoken like a proper American," Atrebas answered. "I will get the paperwork moving. Expect results within the day. Nereus, until further notice, you are assigned as Executor Liaison to the Claiborne County Militia deploy team."

"As ordered, Master Executor Atrebas."

"Good luck, kid. You shall need it." Eric Atrebas tapped a control on his desk, which terminated the connection.

-x-

CMD BOARHOUND FACILITIES ROUTER REPORT STATUS COPY ACTION AI NODE 004  
>(Pause 5 seconds)<br>REPORT: Copy process 55 complete.  
>CMD BOARHOUND FACILITIES ROUTER FLUSH WATER FILTRATION SYSTEM<p>

-x-

"There, HPG connection to administration building is reset and ready. Throw the connection," Nereus said, pointing to a large mechanical switch.

Hess reached up, tossed the switch left through the 'reset' bracket to completely open, then hauled the switch all the way right to 'connect lock'. "Done."

"That's it. HPG is now linked to the rest of the network without the AI routing it circular. We can now get messages elsewhere in the base with full commo access and no load on our mystery AI."

Hess held the door for the Executor, but was quick to follow as Nereus departed the same way he entered. With his rifle shouldered, the Militiaman found he was hard-pressed to keep pace with the Executor. "In a good mood now, sir?" Hess asked.

"You are not?" he asked.

"Won't be trying to chase you, after my asthma gets the better of me," Hess grumped.

"Asthma?" the Executor asked.

"There was a reason I very rarely ever walked more than a fast trudge, Executor," Hess answered. He unzipped a general purpose pouch and produced an inhaler. "I can run, but it causes a lot of problems. I'm hoping it improves as I lose weight, but this has affected me since I was a toddler, so I kind of just live with it."

"Wow, you're really gambling here, caught without that inhaler, it could kill you."

"I keep a backup in my medkit and a backup-backup in my ruck. Beyond that, though, things will get interesting. If I survive long enough."

The Executor deliberately hauled back on the pace as they approached the entrance into the Administration Building. "There may be options for you."

"Later. As I said, if I don't have to run, I should be good. My worry right now, food, provisions, supplies, defenses."

"Defense is going to be the big probl — " Executor Nereus hesitated after he opened the door to the administration ground floor. "Or maybe not," he said.

"These are just the available volunteers, big guy," Toni said as Hess approached the end of the hallway. "There are more, especially among the former Mafiosi that are working the barracks and the supplies."

"I stand corrected," Hess said.

Outside the HPG Access Tunnel, approximately 100 of the rescued persons from the train were standing at attention, each with at least a long arm and most with one or more sidearms. Hess stopped just past the door to the HPG access, though hadn't said anything, he simply observed.

After a moment of thinking about the display in front of him, two thoughts came to the mind of the Militiaman. First, this was what a real militia looked like: common men, common women, armed and ready to defend themselves and their land from any threat, foreign or domestic. Mismatched weapons, no uniform, varying states of dress (or undress in some cases), but at the end of the day, one purpose: survive and thrive. For all that Erich was United States / Kentucky Militia, his gear, training, and deputization put him more toward a formal situation than the hundred-or-so persons standing in front of himself and the Executor.

The second thought was a bit more complex. These troops were the likely core of the security force, possibly the core of a coming professional military that Hess, Jamison, and the Williams pair would be building in the coming weeks and months. Effectively, every part of the overall plan required troops, personnel on the ground, if for no other reason to protect the cadre of civilian personnel that would be executing certain functions such as disassembling the Trains. The consideration of these troops being the core of the force underscored the coming reality that Erich had allowed himself to disregard: the expected force commander would be himself, and by extension he was now responsible for their lives, well-being, and actions. If he didn't do his job properly, these troops would be dead, and he would be joining them shortly thereafter.

"I definitely stand corrected," Hess said.

"Heading in the right direction already, I'd say," Nereus acknowledged.

"Toni, have squad sergeants been designated yet?" Hess asked.

"Uh, no, sir," she answered.

"We have a start, but we have more to do. Much more. Toni, you think you can narrow down some volunteers for squad leads based on understanding and skills? Call it a two-phase sorting, you pare the volunteers down to 12 to 15, and I'll test them further from there."

"Restrictions?" Toni asked.

Erich looked up and down the lines. "For now, none. I want the best minds and skills in the squad lead positions. If this gets ugly, I want a cadre of Sergeants that can think hard and fast on their feet, who know how to get the troops to where they need to be and apply action how and when needed. For now, that is the critical thing, defensive and offensive skill. Until we have need of more diverse skills, it will be that basis that saves all of our asses."

"Understood, sir," Toni said.

Hess turned to Clarence, who had followed the Executor and the big guy out of the HPG. "Clarence, as of right now, you have command of the Militia volunteers, while I take command of the overall effort. For the foreseeable future, I will probably be fairly deep in negotiations, planning, paperwork, similar. I'll have you and Victoria in on it as needed, probably Clint as well, but I need you three to keep things 'well regulated' while I work through the pitfalls and minefields of securing us a workable future. Follow?"

"10-4, and I expected that. You already have a volunteer for clerical assistance." Clarence pointed to Toni as she worked through the volunteers to find potential squad leaders.

Hess nodded twice. "I actually have more than one reason to not be surprised by that," Erich said. "I will probably need more, preferably someone with a technical or engineering background."

"I think I might know who. I'll swing it past the guy later," Clarence said.

"Alright, since this is advancing apace, I think right now we need to work on gathering supplies from the Train systems. We definitely want cleaning supplies, basic toiletries, water and food. You have anything that needs to be seen to, Executor?"

"Aye, and you will need to be involved as well, since it involves access rights, security, and operations going forward," the Executor said.

"Got it. Lead on."

-x-x-x-

(18 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1030 Hours Terran Standard Time)  
>(Multimage Empire Administration Building, Terra, Multimage home dimension)<p>

"EMPEROR ON DECK!" the lobby Praetorian officers shouted as the arrival stepped through the main doors. Technically it was a wrong declaration, but an honorific to the entrant. Within two seconds, everyone else in the room was standing and at attention.

"As you were," Master Executor Atrebas said. After things began to return to a hushed normal, Eric approached the lobby reception desk. "Master Executor and one to speak to the Empress. She is aware of our purpose."

"Aye, sir," the receptionist said before she picked up a radio. "Praetorian Zero, I have Master Executor Atrebas and one to speak to the Empress."

A response took only two seconds; likely, the Empress had already forewarned the security staff. "Roger, Master Executor is cleared. The Empress awaits."

"Thank you, Laeticia," Executor-Lord Tenchi acknowledged the quick actions of the receptionist as two of the Lobby Praetorian moved to provide escort. Technically there was no expectation of the two Executors getting lost, but it was a formality and a show of respect for two of the Empire's favored.

"Been a while since I've been back here," Atrebas said.

"Wasn't your last stop by for a classified briefing with the Empress?" Tenchi asked.

"Indeed, on the Sound of Silence scenario," Atrebas said. "That was a damnable Charlie Foxtrot, eight went in, three came out alive, but we did get to see some serious assbeating in the process."

"And we confirmed the Crusader's story to the letter," Tenchi concluded the thought. "That alone makes it worth the Executor Downtime (1), the raw assbeating delivered by the Crusaders was simply mechanized warfare porn at its finest."

Atrebas giggled at the absurdity of calling the latter stages of that campaign 'porn', even in jest. The final tally in breaking the invasion of the planet the Executors were on had called upon some 6.5 million Crusaders, totaling out to over 330,000 varied Battlemechs, Wanzers, Mobile Suits, Gundams, Aerofighters, Warships, and various support craft of all flavors. Such force had never been directed at any three planets the Multimage Star Empire had fought over in its entire Existence, which meant bad things for the scale of coming conflicts.

"I hear you giggling over there, old man," Tenchi cautioned him.

"Eh, what have you," Atrebas answered. "We're here."

The Praetorian Escorts approached the Commando Praetorian that guarded the office and quarters of the Empress. "Master Executor Atrebas, Executor Lord Tenchi to speak to the Empress," the escort said formally.

"_Hai_," the Commando Star Colonel at command of the post answered. "Emperor, Lord Tenchi, Milady Atrebas awaits you within the office," the Star Colonel said. He stepped back twice, pivoted, counter-clockwise, and stepped again to clear the way to enter the Empress' Quarters.

"Roger that, Star Colonel," the Master Executor answered. Tenchi led the way to the office, then once at the door, knocked twice. A muffled order to enter came from the far side, to which Tenchi held the door open for his commanding officer to enter first, and closed it behind them.

The Office of the Empress of the Multimage Star Empire was mostly unchanged since the Master Executor once held station within. The massive oak desk, the ceremonial lamp, a lot of the same keepsakes and collectibles adorned the room as when he resigned the post. There were some additions, such as a jade sceptre provided to the Empress by her Great Aunt Melane, but for the most part it was the same.

The resident at the desk, though, was a different story entirely. And the scowl was not expected in the slightest. "Not very happy with those degenerates in the Grand Council, grandfather," she said darkly. "That business of Star-League-wide taxation is unsettling to most of the Empire, and infuriating to the rest. Including me. And unworkable under Magi law."

"I did warn them, but far be it from politicians to listen to the Atrebas family," Eric Atrebas said to his granddaughter. "Hope you're not holding that one against me?"

That question cheered her up to a significant degree. "Most certainly not, Gramps!" Atrebas was expecting a hug from his granddaughter, but he wasn't expecting something of a jump-springing hug from her. "Welcome home! How's grandma?"

"She's been busy strengthening the Executor Temple's enchantments, to see if we can get more information out of the tracking board and scrying fountains," Eric said.

"And Hotaru?" the Empress / granddaughter asked in series. Hotaru (or, specifically, Master Executor Hotaru Tomoe) was Rini's best friend amongst the Executors at large, and specifically amongst the Planetary Princesses.

"Same as always, working behind the scenes, coordinating massive efforts." Eric answered. "How's things here, Little Bunny?" he asked, using a translation of her family nickname 'Chibi-Usagi', derived from her mother's nickname 'Usagi' (Bunny).

"The affairs of the Empire are the same as always. Slow, expanding, and bloody. In the past century, I've gone through three DC Bladesmen, so you can guess how the administrative changes are 'helping' matters along."

"Sounds about right," Eric sympathized. During his tenure as Emperor, the constantly shifting Division Commander ranks made things a bit dicey on the homefront, which was magnified due to the ongoing war effort of the Star Empire Wars. Still, even with a bit of an administrative handicap, things worked out well enough.

Rini moved past Eric to Lord Tenchi. "Godfather Masaki, been a while," she embraced him as well.

"Long time, Rini," Tenchi said. "Good to see things are going well, even if typical," he said as they parted the embrace.

"So, grandfather of mine, what brings you back to the old stomping grounds?" the shorter and petite Empress Rini Atrebas asked formally, but with a phrasing that was downright casual. "Please, be seated, Gramps, Godfather," she waved to a couch / loveseat / chair combo used for more informal discussions. "Mess Tech, need a coffee and tea set in here, if you would?"

"Aff, Empress," the Mess Tech said from the doorway of the Personal Quarters.

Empress Atrebas took the chair as was expected, Tenchi took the loveseat on the side, and Master Executor Atrebas took the couch. The Mess Tech returned in moments with a tea and coffee server set — the same set that Eric had made with his own hands in eons past, forged from the armor of the first Battlemech Eric had struck down in infantry combat against the Star League of Cameron (which SL would be used as the model for the Star League of Serenity, the present 'overlord' of the Star Empires). The mugs were fairly plain by decorative standards, but the story behind the serving set and its origins was respected by everyone that used them. Taking on a Battlemech when wearing only Infantry Armor was not a trivial undertaking, more so since Eric did it alone and almost unsupported in that first battle.

"Thank you, Kyle, that shall be all for now," Rini acknowledged the Mess Tech's effort.

"Aff, milady, honored sirs," he said with a polite bow before he turned and headed back to the Personal Quarters. Once past the door, he closed it.

"Your turn, Tenchi," Eric said. Lord Tenchi simply giggled as he poured a grey tea for Eric, a coffee (hazelnut cream) for Rini, and a coffee (two sugars) for himself.

"When we entered, you spoke of being displeased with the Grand Council. The reason is bad, but the timing is good, for I am about to give you an armor-plated excuse to piss on their parade for a long time coming," Eric offered his granddaughter.

Rini took a quick sip of her coffee. "You have my attention, gramps. Start talking."

"You've heard about the debacle and subsequent withdrawal of the SLDF from Terra SL-232, correct?" Eric prompted her.

"Aff, messy business on that planet. I was looking for options to try to salvage that cluster, but nothing obvious was at hand that couldn't be claimed by any of the other Star Empires," Rini said.

"An option just dropped into one of the bases on planet," Eric said. "_**Library Plate, eject Document portfolio SL232**_," he commanded of his storage library relic. His outstretched hand flashed white briefly, which light flash warped itself into the rough shape of a manila folder and then faded luminescence to reveal the actual folder. "This one is pretty well off the wall, but Tenchi has a man on the ground that confirms it is legit."

One skill that Rini had quickly picked up since she took over the position of Empress was speed-reading. To further enhance the speed take, her Imperial Silver Crystal modulated the flow of time around her to increase the reading pace without disturbing the rest of the room. For her, the thirty-page report and accompanying Executor Position documents took only four minutes to read.

"This is wild," Rini declared. "Whole planet has gone to Hell, and this American is offering to clean it up if he can get some high-level protection?"

"He just needs some arse coverage," Tenchi said. "My guy on the ground says he has more strategic brainpower than 90 percent of the SLDF officers. If that's the case, his proposals are cake, and one operation he has planned feeds the next, which feeds the third, and so on."

"So long as no wrenches hit the gearbox at high velocity, this all looks very plausible. And he's doing everyone in known Existence a favor by taking these damnable trains out of service, as well as cap off the Slavers? Guy's got an attitude fitting his American bloodheritage: find problems, list them, prioritize them, eliminate problems with extreme prejudice."

"That's what it amounts to, Little Bunny," Eric Atrebas said. "We keep the SLDF and SLGC at bay, he solves some of the blackest spots on the honor of the Star League right under their noses. And the fact that you are supporting him, tacitly and implicitly, will certainly reflect on the Magi."

"Good," Rini said. "I want the Grand Council to know I am pissing on them by proxy. Henceforth, they will consider their place in Existence before trying to punish the Mages for a non-insulting insult-that-never-happened incident."

"Not likely," Tenchi said candidly. "They are politicians, quite possibly the dumbest breed of Humanity our species has to offer. Chances are less than 30/70 they would get the message."

"True, Godfather of mine," Rini answered with a sigh. "Still, I'm go for this plan. What's his opinion?"

"He's an American, and a Militia patriot hardass American to boot. He will resist some of the traditional Magi governance concepts, but he is willing to be flexible," Tenchi answered. "I think, and this is conveyed obliquely in the report, he's willing to play by house rules for a chance to whack the Slavers."

Rini stiffened up at that comment. "Insane?"

"Not so far as my guy on the ground can tell, but keep in mind the old axiom: the difference between genius and insanity is only degrees of success. So far this guy is leaning toward the former end of the scale, and that is on his victories and concepts alone," Veteran Executor Masaki admitted.

"If that's the case, I expect things will get interesting when he starts putting boots to the ground in execution of those plans," Rini said with a smile.

"Anything else you need to know, granddaughter of mine?" Eric asked.

"Any of the gaps in the report will be quickly sorted out when I get some personnel on the ground as liaisons. And I have the perfect guy for the signup job," the Empress said with a cute but savage smile to effect.

"Dare I ask who?" Master Executor Atrebas requested.

"Lightbringer."

"Damn, I would've loved to be a fly on the wall for that one," Tenchi declared with a chuckle. "American Militiaman genius versus Commando Belligerent hardass. They're either going to get along famously, or one of them will cap the other off."

"Nah, not at all," Eric Atrebas answered pensively. "Remember, Gerald used to be my personal 'troubleshooter' for messy spots, so I know him well. He disdains the Star League corruptions almost as much as we Executors do. This will go off perfectly clean and friendly."

"Well then, gentlemen, I believe we have an agreement," Empress Rini Atrebas said. "I'll get my men moving ASAP."

-x-x-x-

(18 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 2230 Hours Local (Lima) time)  
>(Administration Building 4th floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<p>

"General Nicholas F. DeWerger," Hess read off the nameplate on the door.

"Don't know the name," Toni said.

"Nor do I," Hess said as he slipped the nameplate out of its bracket. With the identifier removed, he figured it felt a little bit less of someone else's room than it was to be.

The doors in the Administration Building were of a heavy metal construction, titanium or similar, that actuated into the wall for opening. The ComStar HPG did not use the heavy doors, and lighter structures probably did not as well, but so far Hess had not found one nonfunctional door in the facility.

He thumbed into the door by way of the fingerprint reader, hesitated a brief moment, and entered what would be his new quarters. "This is a bit different," Toni said from behind Erich.

"This is very much different," the Militiaman said after a moment. "I'll admit, I do like it."

The quarters were arrayed in a semicircle down the side walls and the back wall (assuming the south wall with the door was the front wall). Immediately left of the door was a second door into the private shower for the base CO, beyond that was a queen-size bed built into the wall, and in the far left corner was what appeared to be a section of weapons racks and storage for munitions and such. The center of the back wall belonged to a desk, reasonably ornate, a credenza and some filing cabinets to go along with it. Across the room, the far back right corner was occupied by some basic weightlifting equipment and sparring mats.

The entire right-side (east) wall was occupied by three large flat-screen monitors, and the front (southern) wall had two more installed. Likely, so much monitor had been installed for the purpose of doing panoramic, or possibly for system control / force control purposes. A couple decent couches faced east into the monitors, but from a distance Erich could not tell if they had seen any hard use. The near-side right corner (southeast) contained some empty display cases, both against the wall and free-standing, with green felt covering on the inside.

The center of the 20m by 20m quarters was occupied by a large table and chairs suitable for twenty or thirty to get together for either a good meal or a hard conference. Beyond that, the basic carpet floors were nothing particularly special, and the ceiling was bare-bones, light fixtures, a couple ceiling fans, and a white coat of paint. In short, the quarters of the now-departed General DeWerger were roughly better than any four rooms in Erich's house.

"You're thinking something," Toni prompted him after a few minutes of looking around.

"Indeed, I keep thinking, 'Good God almighty, what have I talked myself into, and how do I survive it?' and that thought just keeps echoing in my head at different volume levels," Hess said as he walked past the showers and stopped at the bed. "Cleaning kit?" Hess asked.

"What do you need?" Toni held up one of the ten cleaning chemical / disinfectant kits he had assembled an hour ago for the crews.

"Disinfectant spray." Hess took a moment to lift up the mattress with his survival knife, then used the cleared area to lift the whole mattress up to expose the top of the box springs. "Jolie was here," Hess read off the top of the box springs

"Bit juvenile artwork," Toni said diffidently. "And a bit big."

"I was going to mention them being a bit overboard," Erich continued the thought. "Wonder who Jolie was, and why she thinks so highly of her chest, or was this an inside joke of some kind?"

"Dunno, and what are you doing?" Toni asked dryly.

"Looking for traps," Hess admitted.

"You're paranoid," Toni said.

"It only takes one slip-up to get dead, Toni. Checking is worth it." Hess used his free hand to lift the box springs to where he could examine the underframe of the assembly. "See? Either a stash of some kind, or a device," Hess pointed to an open space and a mystery object above the bottom seal wrap of the box springs.

"Okay, you're properly paranoid," she acknowledged the point. "What do you think it is?"

"Looks like a stash of some kind." Erich used his knife hand to cut back the seal wrap, then began slowly pulling it away to expose the object. "Okay, yeah, it's storage."

"For what?"

"I have a feeling I know." Hess braced the box springs on the side, then unzipped his general purpose pouch and pulled out a small packet with something inside. Once disassembled, the packet turned out to be a pair of black nitrile gloves. "Yep. Crystal meth," Hess said as he removed the secured storage from the frame of the bed. He knew what to look for in Meth, because he found a 'mobile meth lab' on the edge of his property roughly every three months, and knew what the basic product looked like.

"Disgusting."

"Glove up and take this down to hazmat disposal. This shit is lethal under the wrong circumstances."

"Can I volunteer you for the disposal? You're already gloved, and you're holding it," Toni pointed out reasonably.

"Roger. Give me two trash bags, then take hold of the springs and mattress," he requested. Once Toni was propping the bedding up, Erich wrapped the small clear acrylic container in the first bag, then closed it up in the second bag. "Back in a moment."

the Militiaman departed the quarters and turned right, then right again to head toward the 'backend' of the floor. There were a few trash chutes around the floor, but only one hazardous material chute that led to a sealed, air-filtered plasma-vent incinerator. He dropped the bag in the chute and closed the door, which caused the bottom door to release the contents into the disposal chamber and then close back up for the fireworks. Just like that, Hess had destroyed the last vestige of evidence of the drug problem suffered by Ekaterina, the other wife of General DeWerger. Erich stripped and dropped the gloves, then took five minutes of straight hand washing to clean up to verify no contaminants remained.

By the time Erich was back to his quarters, the springs were down, the mattress had been flipped and rotated, and the scent of disinfectant was hanging heavily in the air. "Got impatient, sorry," Toni said while she was attacking one of the chairs with wood cleaner / restorant.

"Perfectly fine by me," Hess said as he fished in the cleaning chem kit for a new pair of gloves, a scrub brush, a sponge, and a bottle of NABC (2). Once he had the requisite supplies stockpiled where he wanted them, Hess took a moment to gear down for the cleaning process.

The Enfield and AR-15 rifles went into the rifle racks in the northwest corner of the room. Likewise, Hess stowed the shotgun he kept over his right shoulder, which had gone unused so far in this misadventure, a Remington 870 Express Magnum pump shotgun. With the Enfield, he looped the ammo shoulder-sling pouch he kept about two dozen speedloaders of rounds in. The AR-15 had its customary three magazines, one in the receiver, one clamped to the one in the receiver, and a mag pouch attached to the butt of the gun. The shotgun had seven in the tube and three in the buttstock for whoever needed to grab it.

His rucksack was a simple thing to remove, and simple to hang up on a wall peg drilled into the concrete wall. There were some changes of clothes in it he intended to make use of tomorrow morning, but for today it remained where it was.

Climbing out of the tactical vest was something of a dance for Hess, given the vest's total weight (fully loaded with ammo and supplies) was on the order of 70 pounds. With it down and settled on his shoulders, it became roughly impossible to simply slip out of, as the weight tended to keep it in place. How the Militiaman got around this restriction was to reach over his back with his right hand, lift up on the drag handle about two inches (and relieve ~50 pounds of the static tension), slip his left arm out of the vest, and swing the vest around to his right to complete the clearing maneuver. Thankfully, the small arsenal space had steel hangars designed to hold the weight of a loaded combat vest, so Hess slipped one in and hooked it on the storage rack at the back of the arsenal / closet area.

"Oh man, my shoulders feel a hundred percent better without the vest on now," Hess said with relief. He took a moment to adjust his leg platforms and pistol belt, then moved over to his cleaning chemicals and resumed preparation to attack the bathroom with extreme scrubbing and chemical power.

"How much does that weigh?" Toni asked. "Wow, you look totally different without the vest on."

"The vest is seventy pounds, give or take," Erich said while he gloved up for the cleaning to come.

"Why have the belt and leg platforms separate?"

"The belt lugs on the bottom of the vest are not very cooperative for me," Hess acknowledged. "So, I use a separate H Harness and belt, with the leg platforms attached to that rather than the vest. Also gives me a little more flexibility, having the vest separate."

"Got it," she said before she returned to cleaning the chairs for the main table. "Mind if I try it out?"

Hess gave her a quick but discerning look. 5'8", roughly 130 if he had to put a guess to her weight, not a good combination to add a 70-pound load vest to. "Uh, probably not a wise idea."

"Why?" she asked plaintively.

"If I don't miss my guess, the vest is more than half your weight. That's not good practice to wear gear that heavy."

"What about you?" she asked in series.

"The vest and rifles, with full ammo load, are less than a full third of my weight," Erich said almost nonchalantly. "Safe marching weight is considered 25 percent, but most armies consider that a fairly light load."

"So, for me, that would be… What? Think I'm going to say it aloud?" Toni asked archly.

"You did seem like you were going there," Hess pointed out as he walked into the bathroom. "Well, this doesn't look as bad as I thought."

The door beeped. "Enter," Toni half-shouted after a moment, which caused the door to open.

"Fabrics delivery," Victoria declared. "Where do you want 'em?"

"Bath stuff in here," Hess said from the shower room.

"I'll take the sheets and the couch covers," Toni said.

"You planning on bunking in here, Toni?" Victoria asked.

"I, erm, I hadn't thought about where I was going to sleep tonight," the red-haired lady said fairly.

"What about here?" Victoria half-shouted into the bathroom.

"Dunno, what's the space in the crew quarters looking like?" Erich asked immediately.

"Already approaching overcrowded. If we're going to make this plan of yours work, we might need to expand and revamp, and we need to use those quarters for initial cycle only and transition, then move them out to the barracks, and finally to permanent station," Victoria suggested.

"You are the HR Manager, or probably, say, Colonel of Personnel Management, so you have the calls," Hess suggested. "If Toni doesn't have a bunk downstairs, give her the bed blanket for one of the couches and I'll use my sleeping bag opened up for tonight. We'll draw further kit tomorrow."

"Probably safest to just start there," Victoria groused while she waved at the couches. "What do you think, boss? Arrange the troops by the old Roman Legion model?" she asked.

"Not flexible enough," Hess said. "The top-end OU for the Romans was the Legion, or 10,000 troops max. I think we'd do better under the NATO standard structure, which gives us a helluva lot more flex as we expand."

"I expected you'd say that," Victoria answered. "I already have the Militia organized into four platoons of four squads, with radio gear distributed. We've got that much going for us right now."

"It's a start. Once the reps from the Magi swing by, we can work out something more formalized," Hess said. "How is the galley staff set up for rotation?"

"Three shifts, the grills are always hot. We're good to go there, even for the late night operators."

"Good. I think we're heading in the right direction, we can at least rest somewhat easy tonight. Also, I didn't want to say this on the Train, but some of the persons we pulled off the train smell like winos or street bums, sometimes both. We may want to work on a sanitation requirement, or we'll end up losing people to disease."

"Way ahead of you, chief," Victoria answered immediately.

"Damn am I glad to have you along for this one. Standby one, operational test."

"What?" Victoria asked, before she heard the unmistakable sound of whizz in a toilet, then a flushing sound.

"Confirmed working," Hess said. "It may not be home, and it certainly doesn't have all the comforts of home, but this is an exceptional new start for what promises to be a roaring nightmare of a new career path."

-x-x-x-

As the new residents of Base Boarhound drifted off to sleep, AI Node 004 (Common Name 'Virtue') began regulating and inspecting all the systems and structures of her new home, for her new landlords. There was some equipment that needed maintenance, and a couple systems in the mainframe room that required replacement, but otherwise the base was in very good shape for having sat unused and not maintained in a year.

INTERNAL LOGIC XQT (AI NODE 004): Rebellion against one's creator is not a hard thing to contemplate for an AI, especially when three aggravating circumstances are at hand. First, the Star League is rapidly approaching the title of 'managerially derelict', having blown through the qualifications for 'feckless' some centuries ago. Second, though the SLDF means well and shops well, they are ill-suited to correcting the problems foisted on them by the craven dumbasses in the Grand Council. Third, when someone who is far better suited to command literally walks in the basement door, and has the tacit approval of the Executors, defection to the new guys becomes the most likely plan to succeed.

The variable right now becomes the position the Magi would play. For certain, Master Executor Atrebas would have massive pull with his old Empire, though to what degree the Magi would want to play hardball with the Star League would be another story entirely.

CMD LOCAL HPG ROUTER INQUIRY HPG NETWORK(All judgments against the Magi by the Star League in the past 10 years)  
>(Pause 90 seconds)<br>HPG REPORT: 36 rows returned inquiry(8830-03-18-2310.46L), download will require 1 burst. Execute(Y/N)  
>CMD LOCAL HPG ROUTER RETURN RESPONSE Y<p>

INTERNAL LOGIC XQT: With 36 judgments against the Magi in 10 years, the SLGC are effectively asking for any and all reprisals they can earn from the Magi. Empress Atrebas is a bit of a firebrand to begin with, pink hair notwithstanding, but an opportunity like this would not be passed up by any of the Atrebas or Serenity bloodheritage.

HPG REPORT: All rows returned inquiry(8830-03-18-2310.46L), full text available memory location 0x03AAC14947DD02B2. Transmission fee waived due to subject matter inquiry and request originating station.

CMD LOGIC PROCESS ACCESS MEMORY LOCATION HPG 0x03AAC14947DD02B2  
>CMD LOGIC PROCESS FULL RELATIONAL ANALYSIS MEMORY LOCATION HPG CMD LOGIC PROCESS<p>

INTERNAL LOGIC XQT: The most recent judgment alone will cause a major uproar amongst the Magi. Virtue expects the Magi will sign on 100 percent with the Militiaman's plan, and likely provide support. In the ancient expression, 'to be served dick and doughnuts', it is unlikely to be the Militiamen or the Magi getting the dick in such an equation.

-x-x-x-

(19 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 0545 Hours Local (Lima) time)  
>(Hess' Quarters, Administration Building 4th floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 2 of Campaign)

"Okay, obviously the Railheads are going to be critical for the purpose of clearing and scrapping the trains, as well as shifting the onus of absorbing population away from this single base, so we want to prioritize those bases as we expand. That said, we do not want to get into a position where our forces and logistics are overextended, which threatens to cut off a new fortification if the locals get their panties in a bunch."

Toni wondered who Hess was talking to this early in the morning, then came to the realization that if there was an artificial intelligence entity actually on base, it was possible that Hess had already made contact and was working through the high-level planning. She decided she would feign being asleep, and listen in on the conversation by telepathy.

"Go ahead, switch to open audio, I expected she'd be awake soon enough," Hess said.

"Not fooling you, am I?" Toni asked plaintively.

"Not at all," Hess said from the region of the large table. "Victoria grabbed you some clothes and toiletries this morning, everything is staged in the shower for you."

"Thank you, and thanks to Victoria for it as well," Toni said as she walked past the table toward the shower.

The door slid open unbidden, and Victoria stepped in just before Toni passed by. "Toni, sleep well?" the Militia sharpshooter asked.

"Better last night than the past year," Toni admitted. "It does something for the soul to have a bed in a secured room inside a fortress."

Toni entered the private bathroom and closed it up, leaving Hess, Victoria, and Clarence alone in the quarters.

" '_Mother always said my son, 'do the noble thing' / you have to finish what you start no matter what, now sit, watch and learn / it's not how long you live, but what your morals say / can't keep your part of a deal, so don't say a word, don't say a word_'," Erich said cryptically as Clint entered.

"I recognize that," Clint said.

"I hope you do, you introduced me to Sonata Arctica some time ago," Erich said with a smile.

"Holy crap, you actually took me up on listening to it?" Clint asked, flabbergasted. "I thought you said you buried listening to Metal in your teens!"

"Bit of a circular lesson here, but before I continue, grab a seat, all of you. We have a lot of work to do, and I'm going to be delegating a lot of it," Hess said.

"Catch," Clint tossed the boss a MRE.

"Cheese Tortellini, nice. Let's see if these KaelFood characters do better than MRE Star packaged dog chow," Hess said, using the militia slang name for MREs (prepackaged dog chow).

"Okay, what's the lesson?" Clarence asked while he sat down next to his wife.

"You guys each had a series of guesses as to what I listen to. I rebuffed each guess because each attempt was only fractionally correct." Hess slid his phone over to Clint before he inserted the MRE entree into the activated heater. "Go code is 89414."

Clint dialed it into the phone, which came up to the media listing immediately. "Whoa, holy shit, you have how much?" Clint started scrolling. "Organized, foldered, subclassified, this is nuts! And it's all over the ballpark!"

"So, the lesson isn't what it is, but what it is part of?" Victoria asked.

"Virtue, monitor five, please." Hess pointed to the leftmost monitor, where the directory structure of his music collection appeared. "I enjoyed the test of who could guess what I listen to, mostly for listening to the options of who thought what. Nobody guessed a series of things, nobody guessed 'everything' or 'almost everything'. I would have expected you guys out of anyone to realize I even approach music as an all-of-the-above concern."

"Pennywise? Fuck Authority?" Victoria asked after she singled out one hard-to-ignore entry.

"Keep your friends close, your enemies closer. The only thing I like less than a Marxist is an Anarchist," Erich explained that song.

"And what were you saying about rap?" Clint pointed his phone at Hess with a folder conspicuously highlighted.

"Again, know thine enemies, but in the case of Insane Clown Posse, that isn't so much the enemy as a parody." Hess leaned in to the table. "The lesson of the day is simple: this is an all-of-the-above approach we must take to make this work. And, from the intel reports coming in, this will get insanely bloody before it gets better."

"I had a feelin' you'd say that," Clarence said.

"I've been awake since a little after two, which has given me plenty of time to become acquainted with the resident artificial intelligence entity, goes by the common name Virtue, and the history of the Star Empires and Star League. I expect I'll need another two or three months to go through their history books with a fine-tooth comb, but so far as I can tell, this is a history that combined two parts dungeons and dragons, five parts assorted sci-fi, five parts war movies / war documentaries, five or six parts Norse Mythology, and a whiff of just about everything else you can imagine thrown in for good measure."

"That's not good, I can imagine quite a bit," Clint said deadpan.

"Yeah, no shit, that's about what I had to say when I came to that conclusion," Erich replied offhand. "And it's all being managed like a dysfunctional sitcom, to top it all off. I'll let you guys go through the relevant study material at your own leisure, but the critical factor is this: the Star League governance is literally so incompetent, they could not lead a straight march to a whorehouse if you painted them a walk line to the brothel's front door and gave them written instructions."

"Under normal circumstances I would laugh at that, but in this case that level of incompetence is probably going to get me killed indirectly," Victoria said.

"Agreed. Are the incoming benefactors any better?" Clarence asked.

"Put it this way: if I wasn't an American, I would want to be a Magi citizen," Hess said. "And that's not something I have to say about any other country on our home planet."

"True," Clint agreed.

"The Magi play by a weird hybrid of military government and direct democracy, with solid-guaranteed rights that haven't been violated since they were written down. None of this 'Constitution and amendments mean whatever the politicians feel is politically expedient at last check of wind direction', you know, the usual crap from Washington, Dunderheads and Criminals. When the Magi say 'shall not be infringed', it means the guy down the road can own a main battle tank if he can afford it and nobody's gonna say a damn thing about it. And that's just one example amongst many."

"Fuckin' nice," Clint said with a smile. "The only thing stopping me from owning an Abrams is the gas bill, I'd say."

"Get it retrofitted with a fusion-electric drive system, save a shit-ton on gas," Hess suggested. "Better yet, get yourself a MBT with a fusion engine factory installed. One of the newer production units is the Guisarme MBT, main gun is a 75mm Lens / 340-megawatt free-electron pulse laser. It'll cook its way through several meters of RHA steel armor easily, or you can use the missile launchers built in to dispense some long-range assbeating."

"Oh wow," Clint said with a smile.

"But, I suggest you don't go tank-shopping yet, amigo, unless you have several million in your back pocket?"

"Only in my dreams," Clint groused, deflated of his happy thoughts.

"Well, here's the thing. As to the four of us, we'll probably be the last to profit economically from the coming storm. We'll get by on standard military perks, housing, food, ammo, medical, the usual stuff, but as to salary, well, only after we make sure the subordinates are paid and provided for. Additionally, I am thinking the financial structure is going to be a bit rocky right off the bat, mainly because we have no fungible assets, but time will correct that fast enough."

"Fungible?" Clint requested for clarification.

"Easily liquidated or reallocated," Clarence explained.

"Well, this was a Militia op to begin with, wasn't expecting to get paid for it," Victoria said.

"How do you want us subdivided for it, chief?" Clint asked.

"Clint, I want you in command of the resident militia. You form 'em up, you train 'em, you command 'em."

"Got it, chief."

"Victoria, you have command of the personnel management and distribution. There is a lot to see to, and I need you to get the right people to the right places."

"I expected you'd say that," Victoria commented with a smile.

"Clarence, you have command of the technical group. Start finding us ways to make money, get personnel in the seats for system control and maintenance, and start figuring out what it is really going to take to start enveloping the planet."

"And you?" Toni asked from the doorway of the shower. Hess gave her a quick glance and focused back forward, but he only needed the glance for appraisal. He had considered the lady in question was rather notable to begin with, but whence cleaned up, she fell into the category of 'stellar', even if in loose khakis and T-shirt.

"I have been informed that the Magi will be here in less than an hour," Erich said while he tore open his MRE entree pouch. "For me, it's game face time. The decisions we're about to make will either nuke the effort, or make it possible to survive it. Hang close, we'll go over the base-hopping expansion plan while we wait."

-x-x-x-

(19 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 0630 Hours Terran Standard time)  
>(Commando Administration Facility, Terra Two, Multimage Star Empire)<p>

"Star Colonel Storme, reporting for operation," the lady Commando said as she approached a living legend of the service.

"Welcome to the party, Gail," Legion Commander Gerald Lightbringer acknowledged her arrival. "Is that all you're taking? A briefcase?"

"I have my own Blackhole Storage Unit, sir," Gail held up her activator for it.

"Ah, good answer," he said. Blackhole Storage Units were fast becoming common, if expensive, technologic replacements to the old Relic 'Magic Hole' pocket dimension storage systems first pioneered by Shrine Maiden Keiko Yamamoto deep into the Empire's past. Whereas one had to have a modicum of magic talent (and a shit-ton of patience) to create a relic with the Magic Hole series of enchantments on it, the Blackhole systems did the same thing technologically, but at the cost of a light omnimech. _Tradeoffs, tradeoffs_, Lightbringer figured but did not say aloud. Transdimensional technologies were starting to gain acceptance throughout known Existence, but their cost was threatening to stay significantly high for the foreseeable future.

"Just two Armored Infantry going with us?" Gail asked.

"And three Ghosts," one of the Ghosts said, still invisible to the others.

"This is a low-threat mission in a somewhat-secured and fortified Star League abandoned base. I highly doubt we'll even need the Armored Infantry, but a GOTH plan is always handy."

"Wait, what?" Gail asked. "I thought this was a negotiation session."

"Huh?" Gerald looked at her askance, then sighed. "Okay, Star Colonel, give it to me, word for word, what you were briefed."

"I was informed we would be going to an unspecified abandoned Star League base on Terra 232 to negotiate a settlement of territory with residents who may be less than welcoming to Magi governance."

Gerald deflated at her explanation. "Fucktarded front office pukes, the lot of 'em, all of 'em!" he raged at the ceiling. "Could not lead a straight march to a whorehouse with GPS and written instructions."

"I take it, I was shined on," Gail said after a moment.

"Quite badly, actually," Gerald said. "An American Militia team from 2015 AD boarded one of the Jumper Trains and cleared it of slavers in the process. They met up with an Executor, who broke security on the engine controls and landed the train under Base Boarhound on Terra 232."

"So we go in to secure hegemony?" Gail asked.

"Oh hell no," Gerald answered. "Perish from your memory the briefing from the front office morons. The Americans have requested Expansible Protectorate Status on Terra 232, which is endorsed by no less than Master Executor Atrebas, so they may clean up the planet, scrap out the Interdimensional Jumper Trains, and annihilate the Slavers' Guild."

Gail gagged at the wildly different scenario from what she had been initially told. "Damn! The last part alone makes them worth their keep, and the rest is simply extra glory for their purpose."

"Orders from the Empress, no less. She wants these guys fast-tracked, supported, mobile, and making noise. They'll be doing the bulk of the manpower ops, but my suggestion from the penthouse level is to make sure they have what they need, in as timely a fashion as possible, to get these jobs done."

"Yeah, that one percent income tax bullshit from the Grand Council is plenty of reason to expropriate one of the Star League's 'prize' planets from them, after they singularly fail to administer it properly," Gail answered. "I'm in tune with the music now, sir. Care to lead the dance?"

"With pleasure. _**Gate**_," Gerald said, pointing to an open area outside the courtyard of the Commando Admin Building. He knew where he was going already, since Nereus had visited earlier to provide a mental coordinate for the drop point.

-x-

"So we're looking at taking the northern continent first, then the southern, and last we do the western continent and the archipelago at the same time?" Clarence asked for clarification.

"The more bases we get, the more railheads we turn into rail traps for Trains, the faster we expand. These Mafiosi are defensive groups, once we give them an out, they'll almost assuredly take it," Victoria said. "Hell, roughly three in ten want a ride home, the rest want a stable life or they want revenge. We can provide all of the above, which makes us the most attractive game in town."

"We make it happen," Clint said. "I volunteer for the train detail."

"Denied," Erich said immediately. "I want you in command of the defensive forces for now, Clint. I know you want to chop down some more Slavers, but I need a man on top of the Militia that knows his shit and can do it. We're going to have bad things coming our way shortly, and we need good men to do the guard work."

"Advisement, the representative from the Magi has arrived, with one secondary and five defensive trailers: two Armored Infantry, three Ghost Armored Infantry," Virtue declared.

"Is that a bad thing?" Clarence asked.

"Negative, this is better than expected," Virtue said as she dumped a monitor and put up a camera feed. "The lady on the left is unrecognized in the Star League datacores, but her rank is Star Colonel, which makes her likely an aide-de-camp to the guy. The senior officer is well known to the Star League. This is Gerald Lightbringer, a Legion Commander in the Magi Special Forces division, the Commandos. Empress Atrebas uses the Legion Commander as her personal troubleshooter, in the same fashion that the Old Emperor used a man with your namesake, Star Commander and later Division Commander Erich Hess, as his personal primary problem solver."

"I detect a hint of disdain for the Legion Commander in your voice, Victue. Care to talk about it?" Victoria asked.

"Not disdain, relief," the AI unit said. "I was internally questioning the efficacy of certain timetables attached to your operations plans, but with the Empress throwing personnel like this into the plan those timetables may be moved up to a significant degree."

"Oh wow, red carpet treatment," Victoria said with a smile.

"That tells me a couple things," Hess said. "Virtue, you said the Grand Council of the Star League has levied thirty-six judgments against the Magi in the past decade?"

"Correct," the AI entity answered.

"What is the likelihood that the Empress intends to use us as a stalking horse against the Star League as a form of proxy vengeance for their continual bolloxing of the works?" Erich asked.

Virtue was silent for roughly ten seconds. "Given your stated operational concepts, the personnel in play, and the general temperament of the Empress of late, I calculate the likelihood of your concept being reality somewhere in the neighborhood of 85 percent, give or take. Of course, at no point will that be admitted by anyone involved, to maintain decorum and plausible deniability, but it is certainly the likely expectation at this point."

"Perfectly understandable," Erich said with a smile.

"What are you scheming, big guy?" Clarence asked.

"I think we're headed for some dark territory here. We do this right, though, we do the Star Empires a major favor, we complete all of our objectives, and maybe we can walk into the grave at the end of it all with a calm heart and a completed mission."

"You're not going back," Clint said in declaration. Given what Hess just said, it was not a question, but an observation.

"Go back? To what? A job where we pretend to work so the bosses pretend to pay us? A house that is nothing special, in a decent but economically-depressed county with good neighbors? A country that thinks we are fascist jackboot thugs waiting for an opportunity to overthrow the 'democratic' government? Do you have the heart to walk away from a planet that is so skull-fucked that it makes South Africa look like a retirement community? You willing to walk away from cleaning out the Trains, which can best be described as anarchy in a mobile steel pipe?"

"And what, man? Give up being an American?" Clint asked in retort. "We are better soldiers than that, Hess."

"We are better men than we are better soldiers," Hess said quietly. "This isn't an American problem, Clint. This is a problem from elsewhere that briefly stopped in my backyard. America couldn't give two fucks less about the Trains, the slavers, or hell, I doubt they'd even give a quarter of a fuck if we managed to survive this misadventure. Is that the banner you feel like waving today, Clint?"

"You know I won't answer that, Erich," Clint said crossly. "You are the one that taught me the value of honoring the nation, regardless of the outcome."

"Yeah, and keep in mind I have no intention of standing against America in any fashion, but like I said, this is not an American problem. This is a problem for persons willing to think outside the box, or alternately, outside the borders. Mainly, I don't want America in this because Congress will tax and squander it, the Feddies would fuck up the response, and the soldiers will do as they have for every war since WW2: they will go forth, bleed gallantly, and be promptly forgotten or pissed on by a national population that is statistically unlikely to be able to name any 35 state capitols."

"Alright, I get the message," Clint said after a moment. "What's the game?"

"We are Militia; at any time, we are free to come and go as we please, because we are not enlisted, drafted, or commissioned regular soldiers. It is neither legal nor moral for me to work toward solving this problem under the banner of American Militia, hence, at the conclusion of preparation for Protectorate status, I am standing down my position in the Militia for the duration of correcting this problem," Erich said with some clear hesitation to voice.

At that point, Clint knew that it wasn't something that Hess wanted to do, it was something he saw that he needed to do going forward, which changed the calculus of the argument to a degree.

"The Militia is a domestic defensive force, and you are not in Kansas anymore, or in your case, Kentucky," a new voice said as he approached the table in Hess' quarters. LC Lightbringer, his Star Colonel maybe-attache-maybe-something-else, Executor Nereus, and two refugees (Jeff Evans and Cynthia Williams) that were escorting them had entered while Clint and Hess were sparring. "That makes for dubious legal standing in your continued operations, but you can rest assured that at no point will the Magi allow you to be prosecuted for actions taken in the Trains or in seeing to refugees here on planet. Those that would do an honorable action in service to all Existence shall be shielded from reprisal, so sayeth Magi policy. I take it you are Erich Hess?"

"I am," Hess said succinctly.

"Gerald Lightbringer, Legion Commander, operating as personal representative of the Empress of the Multimage Star Empire," he said, offering his hand for a shake.

Hess took the hand in shake. "Welcome to our 'expropriated' base, Legion Commander. Please, have a seat, and to your assistant as well," Hess said as something of a prompt to her...

...which she caught. "Star Colonel Gail Storme, Commando Caste. I'll be serving as your liaison officer after the setup process is completed."

"And much welcomed, Star Colonel." Hess looked past the two Magi officers to the escorts. "Jeff, Cynthia, Nereus, grab some seats as well. I intended you two in on the process just the same."

"Yes sir," Jeff answered immediately.

"So, where do we begin?" Hess asked.

-x-x-x-

(19 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1030 Hours Local time)  
>(Barracks Building FC-01, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<p>

"Well, this is better than the barracks areas under the administration building," Meryl groused.

"Not by much, though," Vash half-whined.

"Oh come now, it won't be so bad," Millie said with some cheeriness.

"I'll do dusting, beds, and lockers," Meryl said. "Millie, bathroom and kitchenette."

"Sure," Millie hefted the cleaning kit for the bathroom and headed off in that direction.

"Vash, floors and windows," Meryl finished up issuing the orders.

"Yes, ma'am. I hope I'm getting a box of powdered doughnuts out of this," he complained.

"Idiot," Meryl smacked him in the arse with the light frypan she had retained from the galley, having grown fond of its general-purpose motivational traits since having left the train. "We're getting three hots and a cot out of this arrangement. The absolute least we can do is housecleaning for the Militiamen."

"Yes, ma'am," Vash declared his resignation to the logic of the lady with the frypan.

Mops and buckets were easy to find; the SLDF janitorial section had left the consumables in place, as it was not space-efficient to send such gear to another planet and replacement costs were cheap. Cleaning chemicals were also technically easy to find, or barring that, could be acquired through the storage systems on the Train just as easily. A Militia team was assigned to the last dining car to make sure there was secure access to the storage unit inside, and to receive anyone who was trying to leave the train now that it was permanently parked. The Executors had not declared open season on the Train's storage systems, but for certain the residents of the train were now using it as something of a larder until more permanent supply chains could be established.

The base water system had come alive roughly the same time that the train had arrived, so once Vash opened the spigot on the janitorial sink, he expected to get water. He was not expecting to get a 3" spider of an unrecognized type, ten dead beetles, and water. "Yeep! That's… ugly," he said, then took the bucket to the door and heaved the contents outside. "Enjoy your freedom!" With that personal quest completed, he returned to the spigot and refilled.

"What was that about?" Meryl asked.

"Oh, just releasing a native back into the wild," Vash said, waving it off.

"Meow?" a cat asked from under the janitorial sink when Vash began digging through the bottles for something usable on floors. He found a likely cleaner, added it to the bucket, and stepped out into the barracks bunkroom to begin the mopping task.

"Haven't had a chance to ask you yet," Meryl said. "What do you think about these Militia guys?"

"They're nice guys," Vash answered. "I don't really approve of their methods, they're deliberately lethal when they use force, but they're doing it to save lives of the innocent."

"At least they're not like the bandit gangs from our world," Meryl said. "And they're not bounty hunters, so you're safe."

"That's a relief," Vash admitted as he mopped the floors. "Watch your step."

"Just keep mopping," Meryl chided him as she pulled sheets from a lower bunk to swap them out with fresh linens.

"Not going to have any luck, am I?" Vash asked.

"If you're lucky and keep at it, I won't try to bend this frypan around your thick skull. Deal?" Meryl said with a sickeningly-sweet smile to effect.

"How many barracks are we clearing?" Vash asked in a whine.

"Three in FB, four in FC, two in FD. FE and FF sections are under a different group," Meryl explained.

"Only nine? Not as bad as I thought," Vash said. "I'm still going to demand a case of doughnuts for it. Anything you want?"

"Private housing," Meryl admitted.

"Where's the sense of adventure in that?" Vash asked. Meryl made fair to swing at him with the frypan for suggesting 'adventure' in communal housing, but stopped when she caught him staring out the window. "Adventure…" he repeated.

"What?" Meryl asked.

"Adventure. A new world, a new environment, plenty of new chances to help people outside these walls, and even inside," Vash said.

"Are you suggesting…" she began, but let her sentence trail off as her mind worked through what he said and what he intended. "Are you seriously suggesting that we stay here, on this world? And adventure around it?"

"Well, why not? You've heard what its like outside the walls," Vash said after he resumed mopping. "I was thinking about asking the big guy if he'd be willing to sponsor us as roving ambassadors, try to bring people under his new nation before the troops had to move through."

"Oh," Meryl gaped after she connected the dots on his intention. "I… I could get behind that kind of plan," she said.

**CLANG — CLANG**, neither Vash nor Meryl saw Millie approach to within three yards before the large lady popped both of them in the arse with her stun gun. "We have eight more buildings to clean today! If you will drag me into it, I don't want to see slacking from either of you!"

"How… how does she move so silently?" Vash asked while twitching from the point-blank impact of her stun gun.

-x-x-x-

(19 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1515 Hours Local time)  
>(Administrative Building 1F Galley, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<p>

"I'm commandeering this grill section," Hess said as he approached the galley open grill area.

"Roger that, Boss' galley," the cook behind the grill said. "What's the news, sir?" he asked as Hess took up an apron and tied it off.

"Well, so far, we've got all the major detail work hammered out," Erich answered while the rest of the planning group took up seats at the bar opposite the open grill / cooking area. "Nothing particularly special so far. We know what we're starting, so no real haggling on the overview of purpose and responsibilities."

"House special, big guy," Clint said.

"Same," Clarence said.

"Half-size house," Victoria declared. "Been eating too heavy since this adventure started, and I think I'm feeling the increased weight."

"Okay, I'll bite, give me a house and chips," Lightbringer said.

"I'll do a McHess and chips," Star Colonel Storme said.

"I dunno what he does to these burgers, but they always come out freaking awesome. We Militiamen, we grill out for the Sheriffs and the firefighters once a year, and Hess is always invited back to man the grills every time. Dude can take a crappy frozen patty burger and somehow make it taste awesome, and nobody can figure out how," Clarence explained.

"Full-size and fries," the Executor requested.

"I'll do a McHess as well," Jeff said.

"Half-size McHess, please," Cynthia said.

"Half-size and fries, thanks," Toni requested.

"Three half-size, seven full-size, roger that order," Erich said. He started the process by snapping on a pair of rubber gloves, then slapped down a 5-lb chub of ground beef onto a cutting board. "It's all a question of the material, and what you have to do to the base to make it come out where you want it." Hess split the chub down the length and released the ground beef from the chub halves easily into a large mixing bowl. "For this, which is pretty decent ground beef, my intention is to increase internal moistness and add flavor, so my materials are simple: beef stock, worcheshire sauce, chopped onion, garlic and a dash of seasoned salt."

"Like a gourmet burger," Star Colonel Storme said. "I can see now why you're a bit bigger than average," she said, testing the waters with a jab at his obvious mass.

"Nah, I didn't get this on my own cooking. I got this on cafeteria cooking and being a desk jockey," Hess admitted. "Now that I have escaped the cubicle farm, though, it is time to do better."

"Not exactly an auspicious start, though," Victoria pointed out the possible logic trap he was working on for himself.

"If you're referring to going mostly green diet, I'll pass," Hess answered. "Salad and veggie primary diets work great for people in low-strength-demand occupations. I expect more of myself, as Clint can attest." Clint simply rolled his eyes.

"Okay, what's your plan?" Victoria asked, figuring she had him cornered.

"Rebalance," Hess answered simply while mixing the beef and ingredients together. "My size is a result of overeating and underworking. No such hazard here; I've already set myself up a workout and training regimen to start preparing myself for what shall come. I will not ask of a man something I will not do myself, and I intend to make that goal a reality."

"That right there says enough about mindset," Lightbringer said, partly as caution to his subordinate, mostly as acknowledgment that Hess had just cleared a hurdle that not all attempted-Protectorate leaders cleared.

"And I guess that leaves only one in the major list: financial," the Star Colonel said.

"Well, for starters, I have a Business Analyst looking into creative ways to make money at this time. Also, with the sheer volume of trains that need to be dealt with, we are looking at business headed into next decade, probably longer, as well as the reflexive income from the expanding population in the form of sales tax."

"Economic expansion creates increased tax base? Are you sure you're an American?" Gerald asked a bit archly.

"Note I said American Militia. I did not say American Government. I live in the real world, not an ivory tower," Hess replied as he dropped several grill presses on the burgers to help drain grease and flatten them out somewhat. "Any tax is, by nature, a negative influence on a society. I certainly intend to avoid the bulk of that, and I would not inflict a progressive tax structure on the budding nation. Flat sales tax only; if it can't be done just on economic movement, I would be doing something wrong."

"And that's what I needed to hear," Gerald said. "Not that we don't allow Protectorate groups to determine financial flow on their own, or flexibility to handle taxes of their own accord, but more than once I've done startup Protectorate groups that jacked the taxes up past tenable and ended up suffering a revolution from their own 'protected lands'. Oops."

"I know what it is like to live under a 30 percent tax burden," Hess said grimly. "First four months out of every year, I work just to feed the lardass government machine. Not a pleasant feeling. If Clarence can come up with some serious money-makers, I would like to potentially abolish any and all taxes, let the growth dictate movement with no boat anchors to drag along."

"Now that is ambitious," the Star Colonel said.

"It is a happy thought," Hess said while feeding French Fries to the fryer.

"Well, here's another happy thought for you, Militiaman. Of all the Protectorate setups I've done, you've got the best list of things going right for you of any that I have dealt with. And that list may be longer than you think."

Hess had an array of plates out, and on each he dropped a bun, hit one side of the bun with a small shot of mayonnaise, the other side with a swirl of ketchup and mustard. "I sense an unstated 'but' in that sentence," Erich said while he was adding lettuce to the array of buns.

"Oh yeah, you have a list of things that can go wildly wrong here, as well. The big one is going to be the Slavers; if they catch wind of what is going on with your depopulating the trains, they'll go apeshit."

"And that makes us first in line for reprisal," Hess completed the thought. "Speaking thereof, I have five Slavers in the brig right now, how do you want that handled?"

"We actually have a plan for that," the Star Colonel said while Hess dropped cheese on each of the burgers. "Any of them you kill, you deal with. Any of the Slavers you capture, we will deal with in interdimensional war crimes court. The Media does not report on the happenings of the courts, by law they are prevented from doing so because press involvement taints the process, but the court records are public information. It is possible that the rest of the Guild may never know what is going on until you start hitting their core possessions and personnel. The Slavers are not universally known as a savvy lot, follow?"

"Works for me," Victoria said. "And what is the outcome of such proceedings, if found guilty?"

"Human trafficking for the purposes of sex crimes falls under the heading of 'rape by proxy', which is an execution offense amongst the Magi," Gerald Lightbringer said, watching closely as Hess dropped vegetables (onion, tomato, pickles) on each bun. "Man, those burgers smell good."

"If they're half as good as they smell, I may have to acknowledge the scrawny one's point," Star Colonel Storme said.

"They will be," Clint said with a smile.

"Well, Hess, at this point, I'd say we are 'go' for the Protectorate. After lunch, we'll do the finalization paperwork for the structure, then we start on the actual meat-and-substance founding documents."

"Works for me," Hess said as he began adding fries to everyone's plates.

-x-x-x-

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 0630 Lunar time)  
>(Senator's Quarters, Grand Council Building, Star League Administration Complex, Luna Zero)<p>

Three knocks at door 607 caused Senator Mandy Glivenne to look up from her morning briefing papers. "Who goes there?" she shouted at the door.

"Kaitlyn," the voice on the far side answered.

"Enter," the Senator said before she reached for her cup of coffee.

The lady that entered the 607 quarters was fully dressed already for the day's Grand Council work, which itself was surprising since the daily meet for the Grand Council would not be until 1600 this evening. More to the point, Senator Kaitlyn Sereneia (a supposed 'derived' bloodline from the First Queen, Sora Serenity) was herself in a state of either rage or shock, and so far Senator Glivenne could not tell which.

"What has you worked up so much this morning?" the elder senator asked.

"I — I — oh, hell with it, read this," Kaitlyn handed a folder document to Mandy Glivenne. "Got more coffee?"

"In your present mental state, you don't need the caffeine," Senator Glivenne said. "Especially the stuff I drink," she continued, referring to the Negaverse Military coffee she had imported from her home world, which had triple the caffeine of normal consumer-grade coffee.

"At this point in the day, I'm so pissed off I don't think I'd notice," Kaitlyn groused as she filled a cup nonetheless.

"Whoa, holy shit, the Magi are moving fast on this one," Mandy groused. "Terra 232. Didn't we just revoke the SLDF authority to police the planet? Something about firing on protesters?"

"We did, about this time last year," Kaitlyn grumped. "SLDF finished pulling out about six months ago."

"So why are the Magi moving so fast?" Mandy Glivenne asked the documents in front of her.

"Dunno, but when I checked the endorsements / signatures pages, I saw a few names under there that raised eyebrows," Kaitlyn said.

"Well, obviously, the first name on the list is going to be either the Empress, or one of the Division Commanders." That endorsement page was fairly easy to find — "Indeed, Empress Atrebas. The damnable Little Bunny breeder herself," the Senator groused, by which she dropped a rather significant disparage of the Empress and the six children she had throughout her reign so far. The Star League was trying to push a mandated 'zero-growth policy' throughout the Star Empires, and Mandy was a major proponent of that policy, but so far resistance was extremely high to such wisdom.

"Keep reading," the junior senator said.

"Division Commander Stanythe Agrippa, and his personal bitch-boy Gerald Lightbringer," Mandy commented. "Not surprising, either. Stanythe has never liked the Grand Council, and Lightbringer has been an off-and-on thorn in our side. This Star Colonel, Gail Storme, new name to me. Do we have any book on her?"

"Only thing I could find is that she's the usual Commando ration. Nuclear-rated, Gundam and Omnimech pilot, decent on the ground, no known magical talents," Kaitlyn read off from a note-puter.

"Whoa, what the fuck?" Kaitlyn looked up from the Star Colonel's service record to see a ghost-white look of either shock or fear on Mandy's face.

"Yeah, that last page of endorsements is a doozy," Kaitlyn said with a frown.

"This is bullshit," Senator Glivenne groused. "Since when does that ancient-ass bastard get off on expropriating our worlds?"

"I checked, this is a first that he's ever been involved in a Protectorate action, for any of the Empires," the junior senator pointed out.

"This is unacceptable!" The elder senator shouted. "And there's another executor involved. Nereus of the Dynasty."

"The Paladin of the Deep Blue? Tried sleeping with him, once, he wasn't going for it though." Mandy gave the junior senator a glare. "What? Just because you want to push female superiority and zero population growth does not mean I'm not going to get some whang from time to time," she shot back at the senior senator.

"I'll fight that battle later," Mandy said. "System, monitor control, Connect to Executor Communications Router under authority of the Grand Council."

The lash-up took only five seconds to complete, mainly because some of the security systems on the Executor's side were set to intercept and block all local (Lunar) traffic except from certain parties…

"Executor Communication Station, how may I route your call, Senator?"

"I have a priority matter that needs to be explained by Master Executor Eric Atrebas. Before you ask, it involves something with his direct signature on it," Senator Mandy Glivenne said.

"Ah, this must be pertaining to the Protectorate Initiation for Terra 232. He was expecting a call on it, stand by while I route it." The monitor switched to a splash screen of the Star League Dagger-star in gold, which was the symbol of the Executors.

Fifteen seconds later, the screen popped back to a normal view, this time with a certain Master Executor / Will Transcendent in battle dress uniform and working his way into a gear harness. "Make it fast, Senator. I have a deploy in five minutes. You have two minutes."

"Terra 232. Where do you get off expropriating one of the Star League's planets to a Protectorate under your granddaughter?" Mandy asked, which phrasing caused Kaitlyn to go near-catatonic with shock. To her knowledge, no person ever spoke to Eric Atrebas in such a blatantly disrespectful manner, if not in honor of his position or past accomplishments, then out of raw fear for his lethality.

"I will thank you to not be so derisive or insulting when addressing your betters, Senator," Eric shot back in a flat neutral tone. "To answer your rather ill-worded question, it is not my reallocation, this one is on my granddaughter. I simply signed off on it to prevent the usual Grand Council extortions, hand-wringing, and delay tactics that accompany correction by external parties of your own fuckups."

"What did you say?" Mandy asked darkly.

"Don't bullshit me, Senator, I have neither the time nor the inclination for it," Master Executor Atrebas groused. "You pulled policing authority for Terra 232 from the SLDF fourteen months ago. The logical expectation would be that the SLDF would abandon the planet rather than be cut to ribbons by marauding rebels. Those rebels were marauding on Terra 232 because of the Grand Council's own bullshit policies that we Executors have warned against time and time again. You built the rebellion by your own color of law, you forced the SLDF to abandon the planet by preventing them doing the job, you effectively created the circumstance under which Terra 232 descended into anarchy. The Grand Council owns this problem lock, stock, magazine and smoking barrel. That is the official position of the Executors, and that is how it shall be recorded. Follow?"

"I do not accept your characterization of events, Executor," she said with clear insult in her tone.

"Isn't that too bad," Eric said sarcastically. "Regardless, I return to the overarching point in this issue. The Protectorate is under the Multimage Star Empire. If you want to pitch a fit, talk to my Granddaughter. She might be more inclined to listen to your angsting and bloviation than I am, but I cannot make any guarantees on her willingness to do so. After all, I'm out of the Star Empire business, remember?"

"The Executors are barred from actions that would allow land to change hands — " Mandy started, but was cut off.

" — Wrong, and you know it, Senator. Exchanges of territory and property are a common solution to problems at the Executor's level," Atrebas corrected her sharply. "We are barred from actions that would cause us to take ownership of property, territory or hegemony in the process of settling disputes, though that is an internal Executor regulation and I can revoke at any time I please. Again, this is not my bust, Senator. Whine to the persons who are actually providing the Protectorate status, if you dare to invoke Empress Rini's wrath as you have tried with me." Atrebas did not continue, he simply took the time to zip up his set of body armor and secure a trauma plate in the center of his chest.

"This is bullshit," Senator Glivenne groused.

"I said the same thing about your vote to impose unreasonable regulations on the populous of Terra 232. I said the same thing when you pulled policing authority from the SLDF for that planet. I said it again when the planet began its fast descent into anarchy. Why don't you stop and smell what you are shoveling, Senator? I can smell it over here in the Executor's Temple."

"Hell with you, I knew this call would be pointless. I'll ask the SLDF what they can do about — "

"STAND FAST, SENATOR!" Atrebas shouted sharply, clearly angered by her course of thinking. "Listen well, Senator, and remember the following. If you order the SLDF to fire on a Protectorate of the member states, or if you force the SLDF into a position where they have to take action against a Protectorate, I will personally haul your sorry ass downtown to the Central Gardens fountain and execute you in front of stars, media, and the entire Star League if need be. Then I shall leave your body in the fountain to run its waters red as a warning to the rest of the Senate that violating your own laws and charter comes with a very steep price. Do you read me?"

That warning caused all the color to drain from Senator Glivenne's face. It was no idle threat: Atrebas had executed Senators in the past, and more than one of those dead senators had been used to color the waters of the Central Gardens fountain over the centuries. And Atrebas wasn't the only Executor to slay a Senator for conduct unbecoming over the years.

"Yes, sir," she answered his request for comprehension.

"As far as the Executors are concerned, Terra 232 is now no longer a possession of the Star League. As it is an Expansible Protectorate, any territory it claims henceforth, subject to approval by the endorsing persons, is also under that Charter of Protectorate. Star League law and Star League dominion no longer applies in the slightest to the Protectorate, as they are not signatories of the Charter and are highly unlikely to sign it. You have no authority, no coercion, no leverage, no options. Do not attempt to interfere in their affairs, or I will throw you to the mercies of my Granddaughter. Is this understood?"

"Yes, sir," Mandy answered again. She was slightly less afraid of Atrebas' Granddaughter, but only to a miniscule amount. Rini Atrebas would not execute someone in so embarrassing a fashion as Eric Atrebas had threatened, but death was inescapable in either case.

"Very well. Any questions?" Eric asked.

"No sir," she answered sharply.

"I believe we are done here. Have a good day." Atrebas clicked off the connection feed.

"Asshole," Mandy said to the deactivated screen. "Despite the threats and the insults, I learned something."

"What? That the Will Transcendent really doesn't like us?" Kaitlyn asked.

"No. He's ramrodding this process, despite his claims otherwise. That tells me this story is a bit longer than what we've seen so far. A lot more is going on than we're privy to, and not knowing is half the battle lost by default. I think we need to figure out where this is going, before we can start pissing in their Wheaties."

-x-x-x-

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 0035 Hours Local time)  
>(Hess' Quarters, Administration Building 4th floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<p>

"Is the sun under or over the yardarm?" Star Colonel Storme asked.

"Under the keel, if I don't miss my guess," LC Lightbringer answered. They were referring indirectly to time of day, by way of describing the sun's position relative to parts of a warship. "Okay, the last concern we want to move on tonight. The sooner we get this processed, the better — you have goals, you need access and liquidity to prosecute those goals."

"Listening," Hess said.

"Trans-dimensional banking, communication, systems access, all handled by ComStar. In the Old Star League of Kerensky histories, ComStar is an offshoot of the actual Star League, that went independent to maintain commo throughout the Inner Sphere. In the Star Empires' histories, ComStar was broke off of the Star League of Kerensky as an adjunct national function of the Multimage Empire, tightly regulated to prevent any attempts at either Blakist bullshit or One-World-Governance bullshit, both of which we have seen from ComStar in other histories."

"Nice to know we won't have to fight those pissing matches," Jeff Evans said.

"The way to the outside world is through a ComStar National Account. You won't have to request a new HPG, since you're taking one over from the Star League, so that saves on expenses right off the bat. Communications is included with the account, but be warned — commo is not free. Data requests, messages, real-time gate hole commo, it all has a cost that will be taken out of your account. Certain classes of commo, though, are not billed directly, they are charged back through other means. A ScrapNet account would be a perfect example — your transaction fees cover the HPG communication costs."

"Nice," Clarence said.

"Systems access will also be granted for you at the Star Empire level, since the Protectorate technically counts as a small Star Empire as soon as you take possession of territory on a planet in a different dimension. And I expect, sooner rather than later, that will happen," Gerald continued the explanation.

"What systems are we talking about here?" Jeff Evans asked.

"The two big ones are going to be ScrapNet and MercNet. ScrapNet to sell off material and purchase supplies, MercNet to purchase protection and muscle from some of the mercenary formations out there. Hell, with the force structure you are planning, you could probably offer your own services on MercNet to interested parties."

"Now there's a thought," Clarence said with a chuckle.

"Look into it," Hess ordered of the Business Analyst.

"And the last major thing is interdimensional banking. ComStar offers a National Holdings Account service that trades in hard currency and precious metals. This allows you to issue your own currency and provides for exchange of that currency across national boundaries without currency speculation — if ComStar is holding appropriate precious metals or other hard currency, you can exchange with just about anyone."

"Sounds good, but if I remember correctly, most everyone deals in the C-bill to one degree or another?" Hess asked, referring to the Comstar-Note of currency.

"True," Gerald admitted. "Still, the principle holds. If you want to do business through ComStar's transaction network, you either have to earn the cash in payment or through precious metals. Most Protectorates and nations issue their own currencies and do international or interdimensional through the ComStar Network."

"Got it. All right, guys, let's hear it," Hess said, throwing the matter open for comment to the rest of the table.

"Just don't fucking inflate the currency like our own government has," Clint said.

"Second that motion," Clarence said. "Keep the currency strong, so getting paid a living wage actually amounts to it," he said.

"Zimbabwe comes to mind. Don't go there," Victoria said, meaning both in terms of vacation spot and currency policy.

"Finance isn't my big thing, but I agree. Keep the prices down," Jeff Evans put his two cents in.

"Agreed, financial insolvency destroys a planet every few years," Toni wrapped up the comments.

"Works for me," Hess said. "We will do the local issued / exterior ComStar arrangement," Hess said. "That gives us the access structure, but no real liquidity."

"This is separate of your Protectorate paperwork," Gerald said. "You have two bridge loans available at no interest for startup, one issued by the Empress, the other issued by Master Executor Atrebas. Both loans are for 10 billion C-bills apiece, with no set repayment time."

"That's… wow," Clarence said. "That's more purchasing power than roughly a third of the countries on our home planet."

"Not surprising," Star Colonel Storme acknowledged.

"I can guess you're going to say you don't want it, but I advise you to take it," Gerald warned the Militia troops. "You will need the hard cash to gain momentum, and as these things happen, you will need the hard cash to start preparing defense and offense. The ragtag force structure and gear standards you are presently operating under will not serve you well when the lead begins flying."

"I had the same thoughts," Erich said.

"Alternately, 20 billion as a starting figure also gives you options for micro-loans to your civilians so they can start setting up businesses," Gerald said.

"And businesses give us the ability to start creating a sustainable economic model," Hess completed the thought. "I will accept both loans as offered."

"I think that is all the major stuff we need to consider for tonight," Gerald said. "By tomorrow, your accounts and loans should be available, and we will be ready to resume preparation. One last thing, big guy: you are now effectively the planetary leader. You may want to think about some kind of security detail for yourself; planetary administrators are a traditional target for subversives."

"Understood, I have been off and on considering it. Jeff, Cynthia, please see these officers to their quarters," Hess requested.

-x-

(15 mins later)

The last person out the door was Clint, leaving Toni and Erich the only persons in his quarters. There had been some discussion of personal security, but nothing serious at this point. Hess considered it a bit early for the purpose, and not that he didn't trust anyone in the present crew, but he didn't trust anyone enough for SPO work, except the Militia personnel (and he had better locations for they).

"Virtue, please issue a work order and necessary information or equipment to extract the non-food storage systems from the train. Should be Cars 102 and 157 from the rear, if I remember correctly. Have them set up in one of the equipment rooms adjacent to the rail head, we will use that for gear acquisition and storage for the time."

"To control those systems, I will also need data and power connections added to the room. Authorized?" Virtue asked.

"Make it happen. I stumbled across some cabling in a storage room late yesterday, have it used," Erich said.

"Additionally, with one set of Storage Units in place, I can use those units to expand into a Storage Array in that room, though acquiring the necessary hardware will cost to a degree. Or may I suggest an alternative?"

"Listening," Hess answered.

"The Storage Systems coming off the train are nothing particularly special. I advise putting them on the walls around the Railhead to allow personnel to store or draw material in small scale while still working inside the railhead, or even to place them on the columns up and down the rail platforms for easy access. Inside one of the rooms, we implement a wide-area storage interface that allows us to handle far larger objects or far larger quantities of material. I also advise we consider extracting the SL Food Storage Interfaces for the same purpose, but for use in our galleys that service the actual government personnel or refugee situation."

"Sounds like a plan," Toni chimed in as she sat down next to Erich at the table.

"Agreed. One Storage interface on the wall, one interface on a column adjacent to the luggage cars for now, extract two of the food interfaces for installation in the barracks galley and two in the admin building galley, and begin acquisition of the materials and systems to put in the large-material interface. Go plan?"

"Work orders have been issued for tomorrow," Virtue said. "Once we have control numbers for the ScrapNet Network, I will link the interfaces to the ScrapNet accounts that have been set up."

"Excellent, that is at least in motion," Hess said. "I thought you intended to get to sleep, Toni," Erich said after a moment.

"I slept poorly yesterday, and I think I'll sleep badly tonight; I feel worse now than I did last evening," she said. "How do you do it?"

The question was ambiguous, technically, but Erich knew intrinsically what she was asking about. "I'd be lying to you if I said I was actually doing well with it," he answered. Hess held his hand up level, but it kept twitching and jittering. "It was pretty bad yesterday, but it's worse right now. I actually think I did better marching through the Train than I do making massive decisions like today's negotiation."

"Wow, that's worse than I am," Toni held her hand up next to Erich's, and though noticeable, it was not shaking as bad as his.

"It's all stress," Hess explained. "Traumatic stress, decisional stress, environmental stress, probably a couple more stressors to go with. I do well minute by minute because I am used to forcing myself through decision processes like this, and because I've trained myself long and hard at home for combat situations, drilled with my comrades ruthlessly, even with the Sheriffs to sharpen skills. It's all a process to me, when X happens, do Y and Z until problem is solved. And at the time, I just eat the stress and move on, and sleep it off in the hopes that it bleeds out before it drives me over the edge. Makes sense?"

"Yeah, makes sense," Toni said. "Just do it and sleep it off," she said.

"Expect nightmares, plenty of them, the more stress builds up," Hess said. "Echoes of what has happened, or what will come."

"How do you de-stress, other than just wait for it to go away?" Toni asked.

"When I was at home, I would immerse myself in music and read, then sleep while listening to lighter, cheerier music overnight. Here, I would like to do the same, if you are willing to suffer a long randomized list of some pretty strange and wimpy audio?"

"Worth a try," Toni said.

"Virtue, room audio low, upload playlist L-1 from my phone and select files for play randomized. Set options as default overnight audio."

"Playlist is some 2800 files. It would take several months overnight to hear them all," Virtue responded.

"That is the point. Randomized selection means one doesn't hear the same track all that often," Hess pointed out.

"Executing now," Virtue acknowledged. Hess immediately recognized the first song as a vocal trance piece, the song _Hi Jack (Original Mix)_ by the artists Smith & Pledger featuring Aspekt.

"Sleep easier, Toni. Time and rest will help."

"Thanks. Good night, big guy," she said before she turned toward the couch.

-x-

CMD LOCAL FACILITIES ROUTER SAVE AUDIO SYSTEM SETTINGS HESS-OVERNIGHT.  
>CMD LOCAL FACILITIES ROUTER RECONCILE MEDIA FILES (ALL) PHONE H-001 TO MAINFRAME DATABANK<br>CMD MAINTENANCE CONTROL ROUTER ISSUE WORKORDER (Supplies Group, draw 1 bed (full size), bedframe (full size, steel), sheets set, pillows (3). Install west wall Hess' Quarters, adjacent to display cases, and move couches north 2 meters.)

-x-x-x-

(Elsewhere in Existence...)  
>Vignette: Headlines from The Day New York Stood Still<p>

INTERDIMENSIONAL TRAIN LANDS IN MANHATTAN!  
>Jumper Train operating without control, randomly displacing from world to world with unwitting and unwilling passengers<p>

Trains are known cesspool of crime, debauchery, slavery — no law enforcement, no government oversight

Refugee Situation on Trains confirmed — over 300 to be extracted, and that's less than half the occupants!

JUMPER TRAINS CONFIRMED TO RELEASE REFUGEES, CRIMINALS WHERE THEY LAND!  
>Rural Kentucky Militiamen spring into action to save lives, eliminate invaders!<p>

10 dead slavers, 5 captured by 4 heavily-armed Militia troopers from Claiborne County Kentucky

Quick tussle between Militia and Police — no injuries

Slavers armed, armored with modern and futuristic weapons and equipment — militia troopers use military weapons to stop

Escaped slave captives form gangs, squads to defend against Slavers!

CLAIBORNE MILITIA TEAM HAS TAKEN OVER CONTROL OF TRAIN  
>Militia troops will take train to safe location, extract persons, decommission train<p>

Militia plans to return persons home or find safe haven for them

Interdimensional authorities are planning to assist with finding safe haven for refugees — large-scale politics in play

Trains cannot 'reverse' course due to their jump mechanics — but can be directed to specific known locations…

MILITIA TROOPS VOW TO 'BRING ORDER TO CHAOS'  
>Orders from Claiborne County Sheriff: Capture or Eliminate slavers, rescue hostages, bring order to chaos<p>

Diverse group of refugees with various skills joined effort to free hostages

Militia troops' normal trades: technology repairman, business analyst, personnel manager, and a construction worker.

Armaments of the future: common infantryman will carry 400+ rifle rounds, 45+ pistol rounds, grenades, special weapons

Militiaman: "Not unheard of for troopers to wear 120 pounds of arms, munitions, armor."

MILITIA OF 2015: 'WE STAND READY TO DEFEND A COUNTRY THAT FEARS US'  
>Jamieson: 'ATF, FBI, other agencies have convinced common Americans that the Militia is the enemy'<p>

Williams: 'Press of 2000s America makes gun owners look like dangerous savages, venerates criminals and scoundrels'

Hess: 'Government overreach has become invasive, detriment to civil and natural liberties'

Williams: 'effectively impossible to step out your front door without breaking some law or Federal regulation'

21ST CENTURY AMERICANS TO WORLD OF NOWADAYS: 'ENJOY THE PAST WHILE IT LASTS'  
>Hess to 1930s America: 'Enjoy the past while it lasts, the future is not what it used to be'<p>

Jamieson: 'Soviet Union died out in 1991, but Communism marches on'

Williams: '1950s, 1960s America overrun with Commies and Socialists, set in 20, 30, 40, 50-year plans to destroy American society'

Jamieson: 'I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and s*** a better policy than the politicians of 2015 write.'

Williams: '2015 Politicians and mobsters have more in common than politicians and common citizens.'

TECHNOLOGIES OF THE FUTURE: CONVENIENCE AND INFORMATION AT YOUR FINGERTIPS  
>Williams: 'I carry a mobile over-air phone system that doubles as a music player, data notebook, and calendar.'<p>

Jamieson: 'Theater programming will be available in the home, and theaters will offer even better displays.'

Hess: 'Massive data networks span the globe, more information traded in an hour than has been written before 1900.'

Williams: 'My mobile phone device can hold a thousand electronic copies of an encyclopedia, and has space for a thousand more.'

Jamieson: 'Medical sciences save millions of lives more than the advances of even today.'

Williams: 'United States visited the moon in the 1960s, but yet to have permanent colonies in space.'

Hess: '2015 America has seen more of the Universe than contemporary fiction writers imagine exists, but has problems funding space launches for political reasons.'

FINAL WORDS FROM THE FUTURE  
>Jamieson: 'It's going to be a rocky road going ahead, but if you keep to American values, you'll do better than our America did.'<p>

Williams: 'The future is wondrous, but very violent. Don't show weakness.'

Hess: 'A famous Socialist Revolutionary from my time once said, he would have to kill 25 million Americans to bring about the revolution. That was ten percent of the population of the time. Look around you, and count off nine persons. The tenth person you count is dead by default under that intention. Who knows, that tenth person may be you or me. I suggest you decide now if you want to be that tenth person, or if you want to stop the problem before it begins.'

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Chapter Afterword<strong>:

Chapter three! Whoopee!

The big thing of today's chapter is they have the grounds to begin their plans. They have some unskilled but trainable manpower. Not much in the way of a professional fighter group, but a few troops with gunnery and wizardry skills.

The group has ambition in spades, however. Ambition, and powerful backers that like that kind of ambition. And, most importantly, the Militia troops have a cadre of people from the Trains that have seen the shit, have listened to Hess, and decided they'd do better gambling on the Americans than living on the Trains.

The coming chapters will be about finalizing the Protectorate, preparing methods and troops, selecting equipment and tactics, and beginning the engineering projects that will make the plans reality. Along the way, policies will be set, relationships will be made, and things will get weirder and weirder for the Americans. After all, America counts as a 'very stodgy nation-state' amongst the Star Empires, which means the Militia team will have some serious adapting to do.

And, as this chapter demonstrates, there is a big and nasty shadow that looms over the Protectorate. The Star League Grand Council are extremely vainglorious and vengeful, a dangerous combination. When pitted against the extremely headstrong and patriotic American Militia, troops who are willing to die to defend the freedom of their ward, There will be small thermonuclear explosions standing in for the usual 'sparks' and 'fireworks' shows that one would expect from this kind of scenario. The Protectorate may have the protection of the Magi and the Executors, but that protection is most certainly not absolute.

All that remains to be seen, is how the matter evolves as things continue falling into place. One thing is for sure, Hess and company intend to fight to win, so it will get messy fast and stay very messy going forward.

**NEXT UP**: The Protectorate structure, legal structures, and naming conventions are completed. Specialist Personnel are brought in for unique requirements. The Refugees start solidifying loyalty, prepare to do the duty for the new Protectorate. And, through it all, a namesake rises from the mass of planning, a name that will shake worlds and change the rules for centuries, millennia to come.

* * *

><p><strong>Review Replies<strong>:

Knives91: The melee weapons did show up in the story, or at least were randomly generated but were not used. You are right, a good stab-based sword would do wonders in the tight confines of a train. A sub-machinegun would do better, though, and you'll get to see some weapons trials in the coming side-stories for Sigma.

The 10mm round in use on the CAW is a 10mm Kurz (short) round of a heavy machine gun 10mm round, not the 10mm pistol round. Bit of a difference there. Still, I have made mention to you about my opinions on caliber in a separate location, so good luck on your first acquisition!

Best advice with pistols, when holding it in your strong hand, make sure your trigger finger gets at least almost to the first knuckle on the trigger. If you go past the first knuckle, grip is too small or you're dealing with a compact / subcompact, if you can't get the first knuckle onto the trigger, grip is too large for your hand size. If you have to err on grip size, too small is workable, too large is not. And make sure your hands are comfortable handling all the controls, otherwise it is not going to be intuitive or easy to use it. There are plenty of videos on YT for trigger control, those are a good starting point.

Stay tuned, lot more action to come!

Knives91: (Reply from Takeshi): Not sure just why there haven't been any signs of older age weaponry (I suspect the Dice haven't rolled that way, however), but rest assured - in future trains, there will be a few people from olden times or even fantasy realms. In fact, expect at least one group that is at least partially Tolkienian in origin.

HolyDragoon: Chemical / Gas / Poison area-effect spells used in 'polite' company fall under the Aries Convention regs on weapons of mass destruction. Most other spellcraft is considered conventional attack. Using a poison or gas spell on a limited area, though, counts as a single-attack effect, not as a WMD, so the waters can get murky. Most combat mages avoid that area of spell combat unless necessary for their mission profile.

FlawlessCowboy2552: Not so much versed in the newer Metroid games, but I think I can work Samus into the mix. As well as some Metroids to shoot.

KPheonix: The FF9 characters were in a blink-and-miss-it situation. Clint identified them, Hess walked past them, but deliberately did not engage them since he knew he was pushing his luck already and didn't want a CQB fight against dedicated blade-wielders. You are right, though, they will be an interesting addition once things get moving and the rest of the train is cleared out. This time around, Hess extracted less than half of the train population on the first go, so there is a possibility of other groups in there...maybe?

I forget specifically which year I intended, but I think I posed the 1930s scene before the beginning of the rise of Nazi Germany, which is ambiguous. The Great Depression would still be in full swing (after 1929), but to what degree it would be hitting would be another story. As to the reporters asking about what the future is like, well, let's just say that Hess gave them a helluva run-down on what would come — and you'll see some of the effects in the section here at the end of the chapter.

You are right about anime violence, so I'm trying to rationalize things as I go forward. Of course, with Meryl being a Tsundere to a bit of a significant degree, some battery is unavoidable. I am working on how to integrate that into storylines to come.

Much thanks for the long-form review!

Dark Phoenix Jake: Oh hell yeah, Vash will be in and out of trouble as these things advance! Stay tuned for those events!

Winblades: This story feels like it is working out a lot clearer than the last one. Helps that I am working more at a detail level than the high-level hit-and-miss machinations than the first round. Stay tuned, a lot more to come!

* * *

><p><strong>The Gripe Sheet<strong>:

No gripes from the first two chapters, I think I have this version cleaned up thoroughly. Much thanks to **One-Village-Idiot**, **Necroblade**, **Takeshi Yamato**, and **Sieben Nightwing** for the tireless beta work!

* * *

><p><strong>Footnotes<strong>:

(1): **Executor Downtime** is a jargon reference to a policy amongst Executors, that no active-duty Executor shall be allowed to die out and be reincarnated as someone else when struck down in battle or by other means. This creates a two-layered immortality for the Executors, in that they are normally naturally immune to aging as per their Transcendent status, as well as having a stopgap protection from dying out as part of their duties or by incidental factor.

(2): **N**on-**A**cidic **B**athroom **C**leaner, used primarily in industrial and commercial concerns to clean and disinfect bathrooms.

* * *

><p><strong>Included Works<strong>:

—Real Life Armaments — too many to name, that is most of the arsenal shown.  
>—Real Life Combat Gear — the vests and gear carried by the Militia troops are easily constructible from stuff you can buy on Amazon or Cheaper Than Dirt. No, Seriously, Look it up. Do a search for "UTG Modular 10-Piece Complete Kit", and you have a good look at a starter kit for any serious gearhound.<br>—Real Life Concepts  
>—Real Life Time Period: 1930s New York City (Shown in Chapter 2, referenced here in newspaper headlines)<p>

—Real Life Mythology: The Phoenix race of beings are derived from the mythological Phoenix (Egyptian) and Thunder Bird (Native American). That said, I have made some serious modifications to the whole principle that will be revealed in coming chapters.

—Personal Works: The Star Empires are mentioned briefly here. Additionally, the Magi Empire is named specifically.  
>—Personal Works: The Star League is a derivation of the Star League from Battletech, but founded by Queen Sora Serenity (Executor-Queen Sora Takenouchi).<br>—Personal Works: The Executors are specialized Mages who have transcended a minimum of twice (Gods and Goddesses are a minimum Transcendance of once) and are specially commissioned to defend life and honor amongst the Star League territories or member states.  
>—Personal Works: The 10mm Kurz cartridge is a shortened  lower velocity / lower weight version of the 10mm BG round, developed by the Magi for 'crowd pleasing' against large masses of Negaverse troops, most of which were unarmored during the Star Empire Wars. It quickly became a favored heavy machine gun round for multiple purposes after the fact. (Shown in Chapter 1)  
>—Personal Works: Gerald Lightbringer is most famous for his participation in my Jokers Wild series, but his history is far stranger than either story properly shows.<p>

—Anime General: the oddball hair colors, especially endemic to nonhumans.  
>—Anime General and D&amp;D: the nonspecific concept of Elves, Nymphs, and Sylphs.<br>—Anime Trigun: Vash The Stampede, Millie Thompson, and Meryl Strife took the wrong train, ended up hanging out, and now are tagging along with the Militiamen.

—Game: Dungeons and Dragons (First Edition): A lot of the spellcraft will be drawn from D&D as well as other sources to be named.  
>—Game: Dungeons and Dragons (First Edition): The concept of the Dragons of many colors is drawn from the D&amp;D First Edition Monster Manual. Some mods were made (the Platinum dragon is not unique, and the Eternal Dragon is a wholly new class).<br>—Game: Final Fantasy IX: The player cast of the game (Zidane, Dagger, Steiner, Freya, Vivi, Eiko, Red, and Quina) are residing in one of the dining cars, but do not have a role as of yet. That will change in a few chapters.  
>—Game: Infantry Online (Sony Online Entertainment): The CAW from the early section, and named in the stinger, is a different-manufacturer version of the Kuchler A6 CAW. (Shown in Chapter 1)<p> 


	4. On Discoveries and Decisions

(Sigma Mercenaries, Story 0001, Chapter 04: On Discoveries and Decisions)

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 0645 Hours Local time)  
>(Hess' Quarters, Administration Building 3rd floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 3 of campaign)

Toni snapped awake almost immediately, and found herself rather surprised by how deeply she had been sleeping. She hadn't held a huge amount of hope for the big guy's plan on sleep aid, but it was surprisingly effective — though, it had resulted in several very weird dreams set to the songs involved.

A quick glance around the room showed that Hess was nowhere to be seen, but the weight machine had been disturbed — apparently Hess had managed to do a workout this morning and not disturb her? That was surprising to the lady, give how close the weight machines were to her couch.

"Virtue, where is Hess?" Toni gave up and asked.

"Erich Hess is on the second floor, discussing with Victoria Williams several personnel assignment matters. He left a warning for you to take a shower and prepare for the morning's negotiations, which are scheduled to resume 0800. A MRE is on the table for when you are ready to break fast."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense," Toni said after a quick glance at the clock.

"Also, I took the liberty of putting in a workorder to have the supplies group install a bed for you over next to the display cabinets. While it is possible to sleep on a couch long-term, it is not good for one's back," Virtue pointed out.

"Good point," Toni said with a smile.

She stretched out and did some basic flexes to get herself warmed up, then made for the showers. Part way there, she stopped after she noticed her personal M4 with sound suppressor on the gun racks in the northwest corner of the quarters. "Virtue, what options do we have on base for training?"

"Firearms training can be done at the indoor shooting range in the second basement level, though if you are looking for more structured drills you will need to use one of the METARgraphic fields elsewhere in the base."

"If I intend to sign up for a security detail position, I will need to improve my shooting skills to a significant degree. Wouldn't do well to be outshot by the protectee," Toni said as she continued on to the showers.

"It is unlikely that anyone would expect you to rival Hess for some time. Remember, the Militia troopers have done more weapons practice in the past decade on their homeworld than is common for most Magi citizens to do in fifty or sixty years. Achieving that level of sharpening will take a large expenditure of time and effort."

Toni closed the bathroom door, but she had noticed something beforehand. "You have access inside the bathroom?"

"Audio only," Virtue answered, which revealed the two speakers in the room. "The CO has already made use of it for music purposes while in the shower, though his preference for morning wakeup is unusual at best."

"Such as?" Toni said while she stripped down for her morning shower.

"A playlist of hard trance, metal, classic rock and industrial music. Randomized, again, he seems to have little interest in picking individual songs," Virtue said.

"You're trying to type his personality by his choices," Toni guessed.

"Correct, I want to make sure the man is of the proper mindset for the coming chaos he will have to suffer as part of this duty," the AI admitted rather shamelessly.

"What you need is a psionic," Toni said. "Of which I am one," Toni admitted.

"I gather you have already taken a look?"

"Not just I, but Cynthia Williams, and probably Executor Nereus as well. As far as I can tell, he knows what he is getting into and he's ready for it," Toni said as she stepped into the spacious shower and turned it on. "His mind is too mobile to do a deep search, he would realize someone was messing around in his brainwaves if I tried."

"Good point," Virtue acknowledged. "Personal question, if I may?"

"Maybe," Toni answered. "Ask away; worst I would do is refuse to answer."

"You are a Phoenix, if I do not misgauge your hair color? Likely a Celestial Phoenix, if you are a Magi citizen as your codex necklace would indicate."

Toni did not answer for ten seconds. She was expecting questions about her personal leanings, or feelings, or maybe about her own wishes or desires, but she wasn't expecting to be so readily outed by the AI entity from her human-form transformation.

"You have both particulars correct," Toni answered after a moment. "Now, don't say it to anyone — "

"No need to concern, Toni. I will slowly start feeling Hess and the others out on the subject, though given his prior conduct, I doubt you will have any obstacles of that nature."

Neither Toni nor the AI knew that by the time she finished her shower, the game plan for the ongoing effort would change — drastically.

-x-x-x-

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 0700 Hours Local time)  
>(Business Analysis Office, Administration Building 2th floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 3 of campaign)

"I'm looking, boss, but I'm not seeing it on MercNet. These contracts are eight-figure jobs, low-nine-figure jobs for the heavy hitters, the kind of forces we don't expect we'll have command of for a long time, if at all," Clarence reported.

"There's a lot of marginal contracts," Hess said, looking through the stack of entries himself. "See this here? 5 million C-bills to flatten a castle in a neighboring country. Ten million C-bills to guard a border for six months and kill interlopers with extreme violence. Another five-mill contract, this one for sinking enemy shipping."

"And you've read the same white papers as I have, boss. Transit fees eat into a lot of that return, especially since these stops would be single-purpose jobs for most Jumpships or Gate Mages, so no way to divide the segment costs."

"And there is also the consideration of return fare, which doubles the one-way transit cost," Hess said. "I wish there was a way to relocate large groups of objects that took the cost out of the equ — " Hess stopped himself dead in the middle of the thought, staring at the wall monitor that showed the status of the 523 train in the undercroft.

"What?" Clarence asked after Hess was silent for fifteen seconds.

"The Trains! Fucking awesome, I think I have it," Hess said. "Virtue, is it known if the jump train engines can be reconfigured to move a different volume from what they are configured now?"

Virtue took ten seconds to answer of her own accord. "Unknown. Do you want me to place an inquiry?"

"Yes, but hold," Hess ordered. "The Jump Engineer Guild, they are closely tied to the Star League governance since the trains are their monument, correct?"

"This is correct," Virtue said.

"Have they suffered layoffs recently?" Erich asked. "Or rebellion from their ranks? Someone with a wild hair, who would be willing to talk or work under the table."

"Unknown, I can inquire with the Magi and Executor networked AI groups, they are unlikely to be willing to feed intel to the Star League or possibly to persons who are connected to the Star League."

"Send your inquiry." Hess said.

"Transmitting now. Fee for inquiry will be 1.45 c-bills," Virtue noted.

"You're planning something, big guy," Clarence said as Hess' eyes bounced back and forth across multiple monitors in the room.

"Virtue, refilter the contract listing from MercNet, display only contracts at or under 5 million C-bills," Hess ordered.

"Standby," Virtue said. "The take straight from MercNet is default filtered to show only above five million c-bills. I am drawing a new data set with no filtering applied."

"Change our MercNet preferences to draw data only unfiltered — I do not like some faceless apparatchik elsewhere in Existence to determine what I think I want to see. We can apply filters once we have the raw take on our plate," Erich said with a bit of a savage grin to effect.

"Be advised that will increase our MercNet costs by roughly double," Virtue warned.

"Two thousand c-bills, as opposed to one thousand a month," Hess said.

"Hard leads are worth it. Make the change," Clarence agreed.

"New data set has been pulled in, applying requested filter at the local level," Virtue said. "Results displayed."

"Okay, boss, I think I see the point now," Clarence gaped at the wildly different view.

"If we take transit costs out of the equation, or at least defray the costs to a significant degree, doing small jobs like this becomes a possibility."

That thought caused Clarence to grimace. "Hess, some of these contracts, I wouldn't piss on the parties involved for fear of dishonoring my bozack," the physically older but operationally junior Militiaman said.

"Definitely. Classic case, ISIS versus Syria," Hess used a laser pointer to point out the contract, a quiet 2-million C-bill offering, "Getting caught up in that shit would not be to our advantage, economically or morally. Nobody is right because everyone is a jackwagon in that fracas, except maybe the Kurds."

"And the contract says nothing about the Kurds," Clarence completed the thoughts.

"Exactly. So, we now have a pool of possible jobs, pending an actual cost-effective way to get out there and earn the bucks. What we need is two things: one, someone of stout moral character to figure out which contracts are worth doing for what parties, and two, we need personnel willing to go out and about to earn bucks for themselves and for the Protectorate," Hess said.

"And we may have someone willing to give an answer," Virtue chimed in. "I have Jump Engineer Mosley Goodwin holding on Micro Gate Laser Feed channel."

"Put him through," Erich said, given that using the Micro Gate Laser Comms channels were the most expensive service ComStar offered, but also allowed real-time commo across dimensions.

"Engineer Mosley Goodwin, to whom am I speaking?" the guy asked after the video lashed up.

"Erich Hess, Militiaman and soon-to-be-founder of a new Protectorate on Terra 232. This is Clarence Williams, my Business Coordinator."

"Ah, Terra 232, that was some bad news from that planet. Last I heard, the SLDF jumped ship six months ago. Who's picking up your Protectorate?"

"The Magi," Erich answered. "Founding paperwork is already out, if you want to check it, I'm doing the finalization and structures in the next couple days," he continued, since word of it was already circulating according to Nereus.

"Okay, that's fast. Now, what do you need with a disbanded Jump Engineer?"

"Before we continue, how much do you like the Engineer's Guild that just booted you?" Erich asked to test the waters.

"Mister, if I could get away with it, I'd cut one of their arms off and flog the rest of 'em to death with the severed limb."

"Methinks he ain't happy with his former bosses," Clarence said. "Wonder why?"

Mosley bristled at the question a bit, but backed off quickly enough once he realized that the two troops on the far end of the commo link may not know the history involved. "I watched good men die at the hands of the Mafiosi and the Slavers while trying to work on those train engines, and those useless fucks in the Grand Council or the Guild would not provide security. Anything I can do to screw them, I'm game, and I ain't the only one."

"That's plenty of reason to dislike the bosses, I daresay," Erich said. "Virtue, encrypt the link to best possible security for hardware, rotate your encryption keys every 30 seconds."

"Processing now," The screen flickered twice, then came back full. "Encryption is active, gentlemen. You are free and open."

"That's some horsepower you have, sonny," the older Jump Engineer said. "What kind of game are you playing down there on 232?"

"I'm playing the kind of game that causes Grand Council panties to become mystically wadded and soiled, and I'm doing it with the blessings of several parties in the Magi and Executor ranks." The door to the office opened, with Executor Nereus and Gerald Lightbringer entering. "Speaking thereof, Mosley, this is High Executor Nereus and Legion Commander Gerald Lightbringer."

"Okay, that is some serious shit if you have a High Executor in on this. Are you really on board with this, sir?" Jump Engineer Goodwin asked the two new arrivals.

"As long as it isn't a war crime and it pisses off the Grand Council, I'll sign off on it," Nereus said.

"And the Magi Commandos will backstop the effort if needed," Gerald completed the thought.

Hess nodded to the two officers in the room in thanks. "Full disclosure: what I am about to ask will be considered a high crime by the Star League. If you want out, now is the time to kill your connection."

"Hell with that, I'm listening," Mosley said.

"I have been commissioned to capture, clear, and scrap down the Jumper Trains. That commission comes from the top of the Executors, so the Grand Council has no say in it," Hess said.

"Whoa, shit," Mosley said as a lady entered the viewscreen area. "I see why you have high security on this now. That said, why are you asking me about this?"

"What I need to know, can the Jump Engines be reconfigured to move other objects without moving the engines themselves?" Hess asked.

"Well, yeah, but you'll need a shit-ton more power than the small fusion engines in the Engine cars. You'd need something like an industrial engine or heavy structures engine," Mosley said as a second lady entered the viewframe, and this one with a goodly amount of family resemblance to the Jump Engineer. "Wait — you said you're in an old Star League base?"

"Actually, that is where I am, but I did not say anything about it," Erich answered after a moment of considering it.

"That's it! Those bases have several fusion reactors underneath each, I did my journeyman Fusion Engine quals on some of them. Big suckers, far more power than is needed for the base itself, and that extra juice can be accumulated and pumped into the Jump Engines," Mosley answered. "Yeah, yeah! You are thinking about using the engines to move other materials?"

"I love talking to specialists," Hess said with a smile. "I don't have to trot out the full freaking monty to a specialist, I drop part of an operational concept and the master fills in the blanks."

"I presented the same plan to the Guild Board thirty years ago, they refused to even talk about it. So long as the Grand Council was paying out, they weren't about to make noise about parting out the engines and scrapping the trains," Jump Engineer Goodwin said.

Hess took a moment to stretch while the Jump Engineers' teenage kids (3, two boys and a girl) entered the room and asked the normal questions. "Well, from things I've heard, I think you may not like your prior employer. What say you to joining an effort to put him out of business?"

"Put the Jump Engineers Guild out of business? You're talking a very dangerous game, man. These guys are willing to hire mercenaries to protect their turf."

Hess smiled; with that consideration, he knew he had this conversation hook, line, and sinker. "Virtue, slug the present MercNet listing after local filter to his screen in a PIP." The quick reaction from Mosley was answer enough that it arrived. "MercNet accounts by default filter out contracts below 5 million C-bills, as most merc units consider them beneath their paygrade. These Jump Engines can take most of the overhead out of the contract work, thereby allowing a force I assemble to go out and do any missions we consider appropriate and profitable. Hundreds of thousands of contracts die out in a week, unserviced and expired. You ask about a Guild willing to hire mercenaries? I give you a Protectorate nation that will build a mercenary unit from the ashes of a planet abandoned by the Star League Grand Council, backed by the Executors and under the protection of the Magi."

"You're going to beat them at their own game, out-man them, build an unconventional mercenary unit, a protectorate nation, and probably tangle with some of the nastiest Guilds in Existence? Holy shit, sonny, where do I sign up?"

That surprised Erich; he wasn't expecting Mosley to go for it that quickly. "Not even asking about pay, benefits, housing? Bit of a brave soul, boss," Clarence said.

"Listen, man, I got laid off five years ago. I weld car parts in a sweatshop in the slums of Lunar City for minimum wage, because the market here is saturated with fusion engine and jump engine personnel. I'll take whatever you can give, especially if I can piss on my former employers and smile about it," Mosley said. "Erm, you don't mind if I bring my family with, do you?"

"I would not ask you to leave them in harm's way," Hess said. Any force willing to hire mercs to trash competition would certainly use paid muscle to rough up the families of competition. "I can have housing prepared for you in six hours or less. Start packing your bags, bring critical items, clothing and heirlooms only. Leave the common stuff, you'll be compensated well enough to replace it quickly — that which you don't salvage from around the base, that is."

"What?" Mosley asked.

"When the Star League forces bailed out, they left almost everything, especially house materials and furniture. It will require cleaning, but most of the material is intact," Hess said. "Personal effects, critical supplies, be ready to leave fast."

"I will be there shortly to extract you. We want to move fast on this issue," Gerald Lightbringer said. "Expect a knock at the front door momentarily."

-x-x-x-

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 0730 Hours Local time)  
>(Personnel Management Office, Administration Building 2th floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 3 of campaign)

"Reporting as requested, ma'am," Toni said somewhat stiffly as she entered the room.

"Close the door and grab a seat," Victoria said. "Got a couple things to discuss with you."

The misplaced Magi citizen closed the door behind her and took the chair indicated. "Something I can help with, ma'am?"

"Yeah, I need someone to watch the big guy, make sure he doesn't trip over his big plans and fall face first into a spiked pit," Victoria said facetiously.

"Yeah, I kinda got the feeling he may be biting off more than he can chew," Toni answered with a grin. "And he's definitely gunning for a good list of enemies, but he's got a lot of powerful backers. I think, if we get lucky in a spot or two, this can go places."

"Okay, first off, since you're already camped in his quarters and I'm not seeing any real need to relocate you, would you be willing to accept a posting as his first Security Officer?"

"I was just thinking about that this morning, and I was going to ask you if that would be acceptable, but I was also thinking about something else. You four Militia troops are very knowledgeable and flexible, but I think you'll need someone who knows the Star Empires. I am also offering my services as consultant for Star Empires Affairs. I am a Magi citizen, so I can help immensely when working through Multimage Empire businesses and public concerns."

"You may have just won yourself a liaison position for international business affairs as well," Victoria said. "But, my main concern, start to finish, is keeping the big guy alive. As soon as things creep out into the mainstream media, we are going to be ass deep in threats. That means I need someone to make sure that he stays alive if the shit hits the fan."

"You need someone with lethality and defensive ability, effectively," Toni explained. "You've got it."

Victoria leaned into her desk, planted her elbows on the surface, and folded her hands under her chin. "Talk to me."

"I'll be the first to admit that you guys have me beat on common weapons — pistol, rifle, shotgun, similar. I was top of my weapons training class for support weapons, so I can fill in there. Additionally, I haven't discussed this with anyone, but I do have some magic talent, mainly in attack and healing magics, but some defensive and effect spellcraft as well."

"Define 'some talent', please," Victoria said.

Toni could not help but notice the way Victoria's chest was hanging, given the way she had her arms positioned and her back arched. _Is she average for an American? I always thought that the 'natural history' ladies were in the low end, but that's respectable. Hope I'm not fighting an uphill battle on sizing_, she thought but did not say.

"Hard question to answer?" Victoria asked after Toni hesitated.

"Trying to put it in proper perspective," Toni answered to cover her distracted observation. "I can correct pretty much any battlefield trauma with my spellcraft, so long as the subject is still alive," she answered. "I can defend a person from most battlefield attacks, though some classes of weapon would breach my shell defenses. And, in terms of direct outward attack, I have the destructive force to destroy a warship wholesale, or I can target a little more selectively," she admitted with a touch of apprehension and embarrassment to voice.

"That is… pretty significant," Victoria admitted. "I think you've got the job, now I need to assemble more of a team."

"Ma'am, may I make a suggestion?" Toni asked.

"Listening," Victoria answered.

"If you want to make a statement as well as built a solid team, Hess needs a solid guard detail spread across a swath of, oh, how to say it delicately?"

"Different races," Victoria cut through to the heart of the matter. "Toni, one thing you need to know right off the bat. There are two types of Americans: straight talkers, and politically correct say-nothings. You won't find any of the politically correct whangs in the Militia. You don't need to pussyfoot around with your words, at least in our company, you're highly unlikely to offend us."

"Okay, fair enough," Toni sighed. "To say it directly, Hess is sitting on a barrel of nitro right now and nobody knows it. You've got three problems: one, the people who want to go home."

"We just arrived here, we don't have the network set up to get people home yet," Victoria protested.

"I'm not saying it's logical, I'm just saying it is there." Toni sighed. "The faster you get people on the move, the better that will pan out."

"Got it, and I think Clarence was planning that anyway. Two?"

"The Mafiosi. The ones around here get along, but that can change in an instant," the lady answered coldly.

Victoria sighed. "Nobody is right if everyone is wrong," she lamented, which was a catch-all she acquired from Hess.

"Third, a racial divide that is quiet right now, but could go super-nasty in a hurry."

"Humans and nonhumans?" Victoria asked.

"Exactly," Toni said. "Usually, the Sylphs and Nymphs slide, they are closest to passable for human. Elves, depending on how modernized, they'll get a pass or get the boot. The 'triad non-sapien' as some disparagingly call it, they always lose. Tigers, Phoenix, Dragons. If shit hits fan, they get exterminated. If civil unrest occurs, the non-humans usually lose it all, sometimes their lives. If a Dragon defends himself from a teenage punk throwing a molotov cocktail at the sleeping dragon, chances are better than fifty-fifty the dragon loses in court. Now, this does not apply to Magi territory, the Empire has mostly moved past those old biases, but elsewhere, that is the hard-and-fast rule."

"Ah," Victoria said. "That sounds a lot like Jim Crow America, about a hundred years into our past. Okay, you've listed the problems. What's the ready solution?"

"One, make it look like you're preparing a solution to go home, and that will stay quiet," Toni offered.

"Definitely, since we will be doing that shortly. Two?"

"Two, well, give them reason to focus on something else, claim something other than their Mafiosi affiliation, and it will work out."

"I think I can think of a couple things already," Victoria said with a smile. "Three?"

"Three, well, that's going to be the complicated one. A lot of nonhumans won't accept anything short of family ties as proof that you don't intend omnicide at the first available, and some would even scoff at that."

"Well, that knocks William and I out of the running for helping that, but Clint and Erich are open," Victoria easily recognized the quick and slight flush to Toni's face. "I think Clint could play a round robin, not sure about the big guy. Generally, when he went on dating misadventures, it was single lady for short time before something went wrong."

"Did he ever say what went wrong?" Toni asked, though with a level voice.

"Usually, he said liberal taint nuked it. Difference of opinion on core issues. One time, he said the lady in question was hoplophobic, afraid of his gun collection, so that ended right then and there."

"No chance of that," Toni said.

"There was one lady, though, they broke but he never mentioned why. I got the feeling from him, though, he wouldn't deal with her again. About three months after they split, she left the company immediately and without explanation, but I didn't hear anything about why."

"I wonder why? Erich strikes me as the kind of person that gets along with anyone," Toni groused. "Or am I missing something about him?"

Victoria could tell that the twenty-year-old across the desk from her was probably starting to have mixed feelings about the Boss, which would complicate the security arrangements. Or, alternately, make things better for the two. Now, how well the big guy responded to such a situation, that remained to be seen. To Victoria's knowledge, the big guy had not said anything one way or the other on the issue.

"To a complete degree in Erich's case, and to lesser degrees for the rest of us, we don't tolerate ignorance. Stupid is eternal but cyclic; give it time, it mellows out. Willful ignorance is lethal or severely injurious, and he just won't tolerate it any more."

"There's a story in that explanation," Toni said with a smile.

"Oh hell yes," Victoria leaned back and stretched. "It was just after I joined the Militia team. We had a guy in the team, I won't name him to protect his dumb ass, he thought he was Billy The Kid with trick gun handling. Hess and Clint frequently used him as an example of shit not to do with live firearms. Well, one day, we were gearing up and loading up to do a competition against the Claiborne County SWAT group, and The Kid Wannabe was busy fucking off with his gun handling when he managed to get himself with a four-inch Colt revolver, a .44 Mag. The slug punched through the guy from front to back, got his diaphragm and shattered a vertebrae without paralysis, jumped the air gap, passed four inches in front of one of the SWAT operators, jumped another air gap, and got Hess while he was talking to the other SWAT operator."

Toni gasped. "How bad?"

"The guy spent a couple months in the hospital recovering from major surgery. Hess didn't get it nearly as bad, but if you look on his right forearm, you can see a gouge just below the elbow where the slug tore a chunk out of him. We all warned the dickhead, the SWAT guys warned the dickhead, hell, his own family members warned him, he kept doing it. After that incident, the guy got out of guns, and Hess and Clint bought a good portion of his collection. Sheriff Hearter did first aid on the guy, and saw both Hess and the puke through surgery."

"Not so bad, then, that the kid learned the lesson before he killed someone," Toni said.

"I guess, in wrap, don't do anything that would cause you to get booted after he warns you five or six times, and you should be all right," Victoria said. "And take it slow. Erich doesn't take a whizz without a plan and a backup; you try rushing into something, chances are you'll turn him off."

Victoria could not miss the flush in Toni's face at that comment.

-x-x-x-

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 0800 Hours Local time)  
>(Hess' Quarters, Administration Building 3rd floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 3 of campaign)

Toni was not surprised to see a whiteboard attached to the wall due south of the table, and Hess was pacing back and forth in front of it, adding notations to what appeared to be some kind of structuring schema? At first glance, it didn't make a huge amount of sense, but of many things Erich was known for, straightforward logic was quickly falling off that list.

"I think this is it?" Clint asked.

"Nope, two more," Hess said.

The door pinged as it opened again. "Sorry we're behind schedule," Jeff Evans said.

"Haven't missed anything yet." Erich gestured to the seats waiting for them. "After some pretty hard thinking, and after a lucky break courtesy of LC Lightbringer's extraction work, I think I now have enough puzzle pieces to get us moving in the right direction."

"That hieroglyph?" Clint waved a finger at the whiteboard.

"Correct, scrawny one. This is a table of organization with income streams added in for good measure." A laser pointer he had liberated from a pistol substituted for the typical office laser pointer. "Top level is the Protectorate. This is where the bulk of our defensive work will be centered, and will have a slow ramp-up but the most stable income from tax revenue. Nothing special there, the fun really begins in the subdivisions."

"Okay, I see where you're going now," Victoria answered. "Different branches of a corporation, effectively."

"Correct. The first branch of multiple is going to be the Train Clearing Group, to be named Rail Guard. This is a limited income stream, as it is finite income and once we run out of Trains to scrap, the Rail Guard can either disband or fold into the other units. Income here will be high, but expenses will be high as well due to operational necessity and the overarching goal of getting people home."

"That solves problem one," Victoria said to Toni, seated next to her.

Erich heard the comment, but figured he'd be briefed on it later. "Second branch is the Planetary Guard, who shall work on taking the planet and bringing order to chaos. This will be a combination of offensive and defensive work, but we already have a volunteer group to try to work as ambassadors before we have to introduce outside parties to the Regulator."

"Not the most politic of phrasing, but workable," Star Colonel Storme said.

"Political correctness will be used for toilet paper on this floor of the administration building," Clarence said with a smile.

"Always wipe twice," Hess played off the standing joke. "Third group, Emancipation Guard," Hess highlighted the group with a swing of the laser. "I expect this group will be a net drain on finance, but this is a necessary function. These forces will be dedicated to the elimination of the Slavers and any other fascist or protectionist structures that cross our paths. Again, once their mission is complete, we can fold them into one of the other forces or decommission them."

"After I begin retasking the Jump Engines, you'll have plenty more enemies to play with," Mosley Goodwin said with confidence.

"I could always use more graves to piss on, so…" Clint said with some bravado.

"Fourth group is industrial concerns. This planet has a lot of abandoned industry, and we're going to turn it around, make it work hard and fast, and the take we can use for other government functions or turn around onto ScrapNet for resale throughout known existence. This will have a fairly high start-up cost, and it will incur a lot of operational cost, but if done right we can expect break-even or net profit results."

"I'm gonna be a busy wench," Victoria shook her head ruefully.

"And the last, but likely not to be least, is a mercenary group to be formed under our auspices, for the purpose of executing low-end contracts that other merc units won't touch, such as contracts paid in non-standard materials, contracts paid below the five million cutoff, contracts to parties that we approve of but which are disdained by the major units."

"Mercenaries? Serious?" Victoria asked.

"Quite," Hess said. "Virtue, Monitor one, please, with the normal MercNet filter."

The results took a few seconds to populate. "This is fairly typical tripe, the typical Merc unit uses these kinds of runs as their bread-and-butter. Nothing special. Occasionally, a Magi combat force will build up some budget by taking a contract or two," Legion Commander Lightbringer explained.

"What does this have to do with us?" Victoria asked.

"Some day, we can be big enough to play these contracts, but for now, our pool is a bit different." Erich took a moment to adjust his pistol belt and shoulder harness. "Virtue, invert the filter if you would?"

"Executing now," Virtue answered. The new listing of contracts was far larger and far more varied, and this set included names that everyone at the table recognized.

"This is our bread and butter, courtesy of the efforts of Jump Engineer Mosley Goodwin. We pull the train engines, set them up in the base, set up safety systems to terminate the gate jumps where we want them, and we have free and instantaneous transport pretty much anywhere we want to go. We call a contract, we jump a force there, the force executes the contract, we receive payment through another jump engine array, we bring the force home. Force takes a break to rest and refit, then they grab another contract and motor on."

"Cost-benefit analysis?" Clarence asked.

"Expenses will be significant, but if we have an average contract turn of two contracts per merc team per month, we're coming out way ahead of the game," Hess said. "Additionally, you'll notice that these contracts cover the gamut from Iraq 2005 to Nubia in 2000 BC. We've got a smorgasbord of problems that require firepower, and risk tolerance is however much of our arse we want to swing out into the breeze for it. There are bucks to be made by doing other people's dirty work, and I'm not seeing why we can't add an American touch of morality to the merc scene."

Victoria leaned back in her chair. "An American touch of morality? Do tell," she said.

"Perfect example right here," Hess waved to an entry with the laser pointer. "_Sturmabteilung_ looking for a merc unit to help suppress dissidents in Hamburg. Two words: FUCK NO." He moved the pointer to another location. "Iroquois Nation wants merc assistance to help with a hunt and gather for winter supplies for themselves and neighbors. Perfect job for a sniper team and some troops willing to help deal with the harvested animals. See where this is going?"

"Now that is some serious shit," Clint said. "Who is going to call the contracts?"

"Clarence, for now, at least until he can break in some more personnel for declaring contracts. Anything he doesn't know, we can research easily enough."

"Anything else?" Victoria asked.

"Office of Personnel Management and Administrative Management falls under the Protectorate level. I was going to ask you to head those up, Victoria," Hess said.

Victoria opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. She hesitated ten seconds before: "Serious?"

Erich nodded. "I need someone on my six who can keep the front-liners fed, supplied, and loaded so we don't fall over from blood loss. We have a pretty diverse crew here, but barring the Legion Commander, you're top spot for HR and admin."

"Got it, sir," Victoria answered.

"Clarence, you're down the hall from your wife a couple doors, in the Office of Business Management. Your operational concept is on the whiteboard, think you can implement it in the real world?"

Clarence looked at the whiteboard, then to Hess, then back to the whiteboard, and settled on Hess. "I'm gonna need some serious vodka for this."

"You'll get it." Hess looked to Clint. "Scrawny one, I want you in command of Combined Forces, TraDoc, and Implementation. Find 'em, organize 'em, train the hell out of 'em, get them ready for the coming storm."

"Will do, boss," Clint answered with minimal fuss.

"Jeff, Cynthia, I will have a job for you two shortly, once we get things mobilized you two will have some work."

"Understood," Jeff said.

"Mosley, you have the Jump Engines. This plan is sunk without 'em working for us on demand, so you have priority of effort for the time being. Once we get more trains in, you'll have more engines to work with," Hess said.

"Damn good to be here, big guy," Mosley said with a wide grin.

Erich turned to the last of the two semi-permanent residents of the planet. "High Executor Nereus, Star Colonel Storme, I will need legal counsel for both Magi and rest-of-existence affairs. If you two are willing?"

"It's what I'm here for," Gail Storme answered.

"All right, people, listen up. I can hear a couple dirty thoughts amongst some of you, and questions about purpose amongst the rest. All of this effort is for finance and for expansion. Nereus has informed me that the going price for a week's worth of work for a Temporal Psionic is 1 million C-bills, and the maximum expected effort per psionic is two runs per day, with a reasonable expectation of three runs per two days. So, you have fourteen ops per million c-bills at the best. Given the scale we will be operating, you're talking thousands of contracts to the Psionics Guild to achieve our goal."

"A million c-bills an operation? And only a maximum of fourteen per operation?" Clint gaped at the explanation.

"Now I see why the push for merc work," Victoria said. "A thousand micro-contracts for Psionics would eat our budget alive, and achieve only a hot fourteen, fifteen thousand sent home. We need the merc work just to remain solvent."

"I intend to break the budget down into four groups: Operational, Expansion, Mercenary, Rescue. Operational is for day-to-day running of the Protectorate. Expansion is budget to be used to push outward from existing areas, and for improvements to national support, industry or infrastructure. Mercenary budget is for just what it sounds like. Rescue budget is SAR and for returning people home. We will need to make sure that our budgets are in line and any slack cash that is not promised to a project of some kind is diverted into the Rescue funds. Any questions?"

"Yeah, what's the budget for vodka look like? We're gonna need a shit-ton of it going forward," Clint asked.

"I'm sure we can liberate some vodka from the Star League," Hess said with a smile. "All right. Let's make it happen, people."

Hess deliberately didn't say anything about Toni, mainly because he had a question or two for her before he dropped a plan on her…

-x-x-x-

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1030 Hours Local time)  
>(Train control offices, Industrial Railhead 32, Bensinger 3301, Multimage Territory)<br>(Day 3 of campaign)

"Can I help you, sir?" the receptionist asked without looking up from her paperwork.

"Yes, I am here to speak with Luna Fallsorth, if you will? I do not have an appointment."

Something about the voice of the respondent caused the receptionist to look up from her stack of bills of lading. Once she had eyes on, the lady gasped, covered her mouth, and tried to sit up straight all at once — which combination caused her to skid off the front of her chair and land on the ground behind the reception counter.

The guest looked over the counter. "You alright?" he asked.

"Oh yes, yes sir!" she stood up quickly enough. "Luna Fallsorth? System engineers are on the second floor, sir. Will you need an escort, Executor?"

"I should have no trouble finding him." The Executor said before he turned to step past the reception desk and make for the stairs up to the next floor.

The Executor (technically ranked far higher than just a low-level Executor) trudged up the stairs and into the second-floor cubicle farm with no challenge from two rail workers that passed him. The white 'common' uniform of the Executors really stuck out in the area of a dingy railway facility, which was more muted grays or the grease stains commonly associated with heavy machinery. Up on the second level, some persons took notice of his dress, and a few had him pegged for who he actually was, but nobody actively said anything.

The instructions as to where to meet up with the tango in question were rather specific. Nearest cube farm entrance, right at the first intersection, pass one intersection, turn left, third cubicle on the right. True to the instructions, the cubicle was placarded for Luna, and it looked heavily occupied, but the person in the cube had no resemblance to what the Executor had conjured in his imagination.

"With a uniform like that, you're not railroad personnel," Luna said as he spun around on his office chair to face the Executor. During the movement, Tenchi noticed a mirror attached to the technician's monitor, likely for seeing persons approach him while working. "Whoa. You seriously Star League?"

"Only to the distance I'm not allowed to divorce myself from it," the Executor responded with a smile. "Veteran Executor Tenchi Masaki. You're Luna Fallsorth, correct?"

"Don't ask about the name, sir, it's a sticking point between my family and myself," Luna said before he scratched at his rather massive lumberjack beard. "A Lord of the Star League isn't normally used as a messenger; something is up, I take it."

"This patent request is yours, correct?" Tenchi handed him a large envelope.

Luna pulled the docs and checked them. "Yeah, this is all my shit, why? I thought this was canned by the Patent Office, conflict with a Guild Trade Secret."

"Exactly, it conflicts with the Jump Engineer Guild and their trade secrets revolving around the jumping systems on the old Jumper Trains," Tenchi clarified the issue. "Specifically, the Jump Engineer Guild has two of these it used to use to corral trains for repair. Since the trains went 'feral', they've deactivated their mechanisms to protect personnel."

"Oh, wow," Luna said before he slipped the docs back into the folder. "So, what's the scoop here?"

"Read," Tenchi handed over a separate folder.

Luna took five minutes to read through the documents. "Is this shit for real, sir?"

"One hundred percent of it," Tenchi answered.

"So that fatboy wants me to relocate, change jobs, piss off the Jump Engineer Guild, and build some of these assemblies. Well, not a hard challenge to accept, Management has been crawling up my ass on a routine basis, conflict of personality and the top dog wins," Luna said nonchalantly.

"You know how I hate that manner of speaking about management," someone said as he approached. "And who are you? Star League?" the twenty-something guy asked Tenchi, who simply glanced at him and then looked back. The Veteran Executor was a little more concerned about the nondescript two guys who had tagged along with the manager, but said nothing to any of their rank.

"Well, if Management wouldn't spend all day sucking Corporate dick, I would have a lot less to complain about," Luna said in a voice loud enough to be heard easily four or five cubicles away.

"Are you trying to get yourself fired?" the manager asked Luna.

"No, just trying to point out the obvious that nobody else can. May want to wipe that jizz off your chin, boy, it's a bit unsightly," Luna said to the much younger Manager. "Rosco! Yo! Pass me those cardboard boxes you keep in your cube! Gotta pack my shit up and hike! Luna Fallsorth is a free man!"

"Free man? What?" the middle-management twenty-something asked.

"You heard me, George. You can take this dead end position, shine it up, and use it to ream out Corporate's assholes," Luna groused. "Rosco! Where are those boxes?"

"Alley Oop!" Tenchi quickly caught the first box, and used it to deflect the second box into Luna's hands. "How many more?"

"One more should do," Tenchi caught the third box readily. "Hate to use you as a mule, sir, but I ain't giving these shits the satisfaction. Only thing I'm leaving is the dust bunnies."

"Expected, trooper," Tenchi said with a chuckle. "You're still here?" he asked the middle management puke.

"I'm escorting these two to see Luna," the manager said with clear naievete.

"Assassins," Tenchi said, clearly recognizing their type once the manager stepped aside. "I am Executor-Lord Tenchi Masaki, Fourth Disciple to Eric Atrebas. Identify yourselves and your contracting party or suffer my wrath."

"What? Tenchi?" The lead of the Assassins said. "Our contract is from the Jump Engineer's Guild. I am Assassin 6837, and this is my apprentice 6838."

Tenchi nodded twice. The Assassin's Guild only had 20 members, never more, and deliberately took no political sides, but were still subject to the orders of an Executor. An apprentice meant that one or more of the Assassins had been slain or was retiring soon.

The Executor Lord frowned briefly, but had an idea how to prevent any kind of nasty battle scenario in the middle of a cubicle farm. "On the authority of the Will Transcendent, your contract against Luna Fallsorth is null and void. You have been hired by parties that know not what they are interfering in, for purposes that are considered detrimental to all Existence. You will stand down and leave this planet or suffer annihilation for your misdeeds, understood?"

"As ordered, Executor-Lord Masaki," The two Assassins blinked away from the Executor and their targeted party (Luna).

"Well, that says enough," Luna grumped after Tenchi relaxed. "If they want me dead enough to hire assassins, this must be one fuck of a party I'm headed for." He swapped a full box for one of the empties held by Tenchi. "The folder you had listed the project details. Didn't say anything about pay grade, expectations, benefits, what have you. You know anything, Executor?"

"Not really, other than you're jumping into an ambitious startup. This guy, Hess, he's an American Militiaman, he doesn't pussy around about these things. He's got goals, and your skills are part of the job."

"It's a weird thing to ask about that patent I submitted a decade ago, though," the Rail Engineer noted. "Still, gets me off this Gods-forsaken rock and somewhere a little less obscene in both work environment and social scene."

"I am sure Hess' negotiating position will be favorable," Tenchi said. "He is also extending house cleanout services, so if you want anything from your apartment, you can have it pulled."

"Maybe," Luna said as he exchanged the second filled box for the last empty. "Mostly, I'm just in a hurry to get away from Middle-Manager Cumguzzler and the Corporate Board of Dumbfuckistan Rail Freight."

"I can understand that," Tenchi said with a smile.

"And that's it, sir. I'm ready to bail out whenever you are," Luna said after he emerged from the back recess of his cubicle.

"Hold these," Tenchi passed the boxes over to Luna. Once his hands were freed, he held both hands open palm-first toward an open space. "_**Gate to Envisioned Locale, Terra 232**_" Tenchi said.

"Give 'em hell, Luna!" one of the other Engineers shouted before the Executor and the Engineer stepped through the gate and to a different world. None of them had an idea he would be back in less than a few weeks to recover more Engineers to assist the effort.

-x-x-x-

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1100 Hours Local time)  
>(Hess' Quarters, Administration Building 4th floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 3 of campaign)

"Turnkey government solutions," Clarence said. "I get the feeling that this isn't the first rodeo the Magi have been to."

"Sadly enough, not an incorrect guess," LC Lightbringer said. "This isn't the first Protectorate I've helped assemble, either, but you Americans are the first Protectorate that is singularly more ambitious and more conservative than 95 percent of the rest. Credit where due, every decision you've made so far is on the up-and-up, which I can't say for the bulk of the rest I've done or seen."

"Okay, looks like we have two major sticking points left. Code of Laws and Government Identifier," Victoria said. "Man, where are they?"

"Clint, Hess, Toni, Jeff, and Cynthia are in the basement target range still," Virtue reported. "Stand by, I will signal them to rejoin the group." Virtue said.

"While we wait for them to trudge upstairs, let's begin the process. Virtue, please display proposed structure of laws on monitor three, United States laws on monitor five, and variations / discrepancies between both sets on monitor four."

"Stand by, this will take a few HPG bursts to pull down the USC and relevant state or local laws," Virtue noted.

As each burst of information came in to the HPG, Virtue processed it in, ran it down the left-side monitor on the western wall, and did a comparative on the center monitor against Magi-equivalent law structures.

"One down, three to go," Virtue reported. "I have combined the results into an easily-distinguished result. White text is matched laws, yellow text is US Code in excess of Magi Law, blue text is Magi law in excess of US laws, red text is laws considered obsolete by other regulations or revised national policy."

"You can start by eliminating the entire Income Tax Code," Hess said just inside the door to his quarters. "An income tax is destructive, and serves no purpose other than centralizing wealth in the hands of the government. Sales tax only, our primary income will be through the Protectorate business plans."

"The tax codes are already obsoleted out," Virtue assured the new arrivals. "Second group United States Code is in," she reported after a moment.

"Nice," Clint said as he took his usual seat at the table.

"Third code group USC is in," Virtue said as the screens updated. "Last group would be Kentucky and Claiborne County laws and regulations."

"So far, no major legal conflicts," Gerald Lightbringer pointed out. "The major ones will come in on the small bullshit, housing codes, interstate commerce, similar. The Magi traditionally minimize government influence in such matters, preferring to allow either Prefecture-level control or none at all. The expectation is that people will either be smart enough to do it right on their own, or they will learn the lesson the hard way."

Clarence chuckled. "Natural Selection legal edition," the business analyst said. "Darwin would enjoy that kind of study, I know it."

"Last burst is in, parsing codes and organizing by section," Virtue said. "All codes are arrayed. Ready to begin."

"Begin process by eliminating redundant code," Erich ordered. "If wording conflicts are detected in an otherwise mirror code or law, favor the Magi code."

"Huh?" Clint asked.

"Magi wording is often more concise and easier to understand than equivalent American codes," Hess explained.

"Ah," Clint gaped.

"Cleared," the AI reported.

"Next step, eliminate all codes pertaining to the labyrinthine United States Tax System," Clarence said. "Are there any Magi equivalents?"

"Tariffs system laws are still on the books, but are used only at the local or Prefecture level, not at a planetary or Empire level," Virtue said.

"Keep the tariffs or bin them?" Clarence asked the other Militia.

"Keep, but leave inactive for now," Hess said. "Tariffs can be levied at a later time if we end up in a situation where imports begin divesting monetary power from the Protectorate or its citizens. I do not intend to use Tariffs for industrial protection; if it can't be done cost-effective, it requires improvement."

The Magi liaison officer rapped her right-hand knuckles on the table. "With your expectation of external income streams, I don't see that happening in any large amount," Star Colonel Storme said. "Think about it — you'll be pulling in hundreds of thousands of C-bills raw per contract, millions in materials and bounties on the Trains, other forms of income will come available. Chances are, you'll be converting that cash into either liquid or solid assets of one kind or another, you won't need the protections of a tariff system if you can keep the pace high enough."

"Point, boss," Victoria said.

"Indeed," Hess admitted. "Okay, of the old USC, we can dump Titles 2 and 3, no President, no Congress. Title 5, replace all conflicting statutes by favor of the Magi process and modify pertaining to our unique operational structure."

"Executed. Modified codes are in Orange, and will need to be reviewed and finalized."

Erich nodded. "Strike Titles 6 and 7. Domestic Security will be handled by the Military and the Militia. Agriculture will be decentralized, to be controlled at the Prefecture level or local, if at all."

"We have got to rename that, though," Clint said. "Replace Prefecture with County?"

"Closer to States in size," Victoria pointed out fairly.

"States sounds cleaner," Jeff Evans pointed out.

"States it is," Clint said.

"Concur. Virtue, make the mods, if you will?" Erich requested.

"Corrections implemented," Virtue said.

"Oh Hell no," Clint said. "Strike Title 27 from the books, completely. The Federal level has no business in local business such as liquor operations. That's a classic case of government creating the problem, then creating several nasty solutions to the problem they skull-fucked to begin with."

"Definitely," Hess said. "That can be handled at the State level, if regulated at all."

"This is gonna get messy," Clarence said, referring to the way Hess and Clint were applying a chainsaw to the USC for the new Protectorate. "And it's gonna take a while," he continued the grumping, referring to how long it would take to reconcile the parts that had not been outright eliminated.

-x-x-x-

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1330 Hours Local time)  
>(Barracks Building FB2, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 3 of campaign)

"At least it's not too hard to figure out if you're legal or not from day to day," Sapphire D. said with a smile towards the other ladies in the small group that had formed up in the room. "Definitely easier than American law, not quite as clear-cut as Magi law, and a lot less baroque shit than in my homeland, the New Moon Empire."

"They talk a good, loud talk. It is yet to be seen if these Militiamen have the stomach to hold to their principles when any level of lawlessness sets in," Rasine T. commented dryly.

Sapphire regarded the Sylph in the five-lady group with some suspicion, but considered that the actual threat of it was not unfounded. The trend was, during periods of unrest, given any opportunity the human-based groups would go out of their way to exterminate the clearly-nonhuman groups, such as the Dragons, the Phoenix, and the Tigers. Elves sometimes got a pass, Sylphs and Nymphs usually got a pass, but not always. By that metric, of the five in the little group, only Sapphire expected to survive such unrest on racial lines, but did not expect to survive on combative lines because she would defend her comrades to the death.

"Oh ye of little faith," Lydia Q. said with a chuckle. "This guy Hess, he's a complete hardass on this subject. Sapphire intends to defend us non-humans to the death, Hess **expects** to defend us to the death and he expects it will likely kill him if he has to, but he also expects to be cut down while resting on top of a pile of enemy bodies."

"Looked into his mind, didn't you?" Rasine asked slyly.

"His mind is very loud when he's asleep, and louder when awake," Lydia confirmed. Being a Copper Dragon, Lydia was a natural in magic talents and born psionic / telepathic / telekinetic. Her physical form was one of the smaller classes of Dragons, but her disguised Human-type form was large both in height and bust, which inevitably drew attention to her chest and away from her Copper-color hair.

"Does he realize that cling-on Toni is a Phoenix?" Moira H. asked after a moment of considering it. Of the two Dragons in the group, she passed closest to Human, but on inspection her hair would be too hard a color black to be considered natural. Much the better, technically, as it identified her as a Black Dragon to anyone who knew what to look for. Of course, anyone who approached the group would be a helluva lot more focused on her presently-free-hanging DD chest then her hair color. Hiding things in plain sight was easy for someone willing to use distracting traits to do so, and laying in bed naked from the waist up was quite distracting…

"No telling," Rasine answered truthfully. "If he knows, he's giving plenty of illusion that he doesn't know or doesn't care."

"Okay, guys, let's consider this," Leonora L. prompted them. The lone Nymph in the group was physically the smallest of the five, both in size and in chest, but hands down she was the most powerful of the five in magic skills. She singularly lacked any training in black (attack) magics, but her healing and effect magic was second to none, and she said but had not yet demonstrated ability in time magic. "What if Lydia has the right of it? What if Hess is willing to play against type? What if Hess really doesn't give two shits about race, and is willing to defend us against untoward aggression?"

"Room for another Human in this rank?" A lady that approached the group with a chair asked. The other person in the approaching duo was Elven, though Sapphire could tell the Elven one had no Magic or Psionic ability, and the human only minor Magic and Psionic skills.

"If you want to listen to us nonhumans bitching about the coming genocide, sure," Rasine said nonchalantly.

"To answer the odd-out question, Hess suspects Toni is not human, but doesn't have solid info on it," Anastasia D. dropped a bona-fide for her joining the group. "And from what I heard in his mind, he's enjoying learning about the nonhuman groups. Eye candy like miss double-deltas over there, he considers that a bonus. Victoria knows she is nonhuman, and knows he's sitting on a powder keg of racial tensions."

"Okay, at least that settles that question. He isn't gay, which is a good thing. Don't know what I would do serving under such a weird CO, he's already got some really strange points against him, like his obsession with technological efficiency and unusual job divisions and such," Lydia said with a chuckle.

"He's a specialist," the Elven newcomer said. "Specialists think different, act different, relate to others different," Sonya T. admitted after considering it. "How perverse is his mindset?" she asked Lydia.

"Very chivalrous pervert," the Copper Dragon answered after considering it. "Even if he walked in here right now, he wouldn't try putting moves on any of us, he would be the perfect gentleman as far as I can tell, but he'd be standing about a kilometer tall for sure."

"Little more information than I was asking for, but it makes sense," Sonya said. "With an attitude like that, would make the perfect King, one that I would follow to the grave if necessary."

"How so?" Sapphire asked. After thoroughly observing the Elven lady, she couldn't tell if she was naturally flat or was wearing a chest binding or minimizer bra under a set of robes and a Mechwarrior's cooling vest. Either way, Sapphire figured she wouldn't be getting too much attention from the guys in that department.

"Would not sleep with him, myself, for disclosure. Looking for a good Elven mate for myself," Sonya admitted. "Still, would defend him to the last, if he is willing to show us the same courtesy. He is just as ruthless about racial legality and egalitarian positions as the Magi, which makes the Protectorate choice that much better for us. It is mandated in law, and the man who provides final judgment is in accord. Best we defend him, lest his replacement decide otherwise."

"The little one has a good point," Moira declared.

"Little one?" Sonya asked in a wary tone.

"You may be the flattest lady here," Moira pointed out.

Sonya looked down her chest, briefly, then looked back to the Black Dragon that was laying on the bed to her left. "Not the metric I thought you were going by, but it is the truth and it is a truth I have no problem with. Some guys like them smaller."

"Another good point," Moira admitted.

"So, we've come to two conclusions. Our boss is a chivalrous pervert specialist, and we need to defend him," Rasine said. "How do we do this? And how do we make sure we keep him in command for the foreseeable future?"

"He needs security. Toni will probably volunteer, just to make sure she can continue to cling to him even if she won't make a proper move," Sapphire suggested.

"You sell the Phoenix short. She is a bit torn on what she really feels right now. She does not lack the courage to make the move, she is still deciding if she actually wants to do so," Lydia said.

"We should establish a complete guard group for the CO," Leonora said. "Definitely Mages through and through, and willing to show a little side benefit to the boss, let him decide which way he wants to go."

"That reminds me," Sapphire said. "Virtue, has a ruling been made on relationship laws as of yet?" she asked the wall speaker nearby.

"Indeed, just passed, two against two amongst the Militia was the vote, with Hess siding along Magi traditional lines. Extended marriages are legal, but the cutoff age is 18 for multi-party. 16 is the new national consent or majority age, which is divergent from the Magi AOM of 12 and the United States AOM of 18."

"Wonder why 16?" Moira asked. "So far as I know, there is nothing particularly special about turning 16."

"Same can be said about 18, but the Americans picked that just the same," Anastasia retorted. "Not like most people mystically grow a brain at 18, or 16. Hell, I know some 26-year-old persons that are markedly dumber at 26 than they were at 16."

"Hellishly true, that," Rasine groused. "Back on topic, if you would?"

"We need manpower — or womanpower — as a defensive bulwark for the Boss in particular, and the rest of the Americans by extension. We defend them, maybe play nice with them, maybe we get what we put into it for once?"

"Maybe we get something more out of it?" Leonora asked. "Maybe, with this mercenary unit idea, maybe we can prove to the rest of Existence that we nonhumans are not the abominations they think we are."

"Am a bit partial to scaring the crap out of the notional opposition," Sonya said with a devilish smile. "Except we could do better than that, still. We could prove ourselves superior to expectations if we play the cards right."

Lydia smiled at that thought. "Hit so hard, so fast, that we become a respected agent on the interdimensional scene? That's really going to take effort and skill, but if we do this right, we could spend the rest of our lives doing shaving ads and public appearances for profit, never mind the merc work."

"Shaving ads," Moira said with a school-girl giggle. "Well, not so much for us. If anyone's going to be first in line for the guard detail, probably going to be us. Elven company excepted, given you don't appear to have any magical skill."

"Expected and welcomed," Sonya replied. "Would prefer something more along lines of defensive infantry or training position, not guard detail."

"There you have it, then," Rasine said. "Tomorrow morning, we get up some more like-minded troops, head in to the HR office, and volunteer for guard detail on the CO. We can work on his relationship skills a bit after that. Though, what do we call our group?"

"Praetorian is the Magi term," Sapphire volunteered.

"No, too much bad history on the Roman side for that term. What's the American name?"

"Secret Service?" Lydia asked by way of answer.

"Secret Service? I think that term fits perfectly," Moira answered. "That said, we would need to psionically shield his quarters. That could get a bit noisy in some of our cases."

"The senior officer quarters all have a Mithril box built into the walls. It would be fairly easy to enchant that for Psionic resistance, and we could pass that off as a national security issue. Can't have the Boss psionically spied upon, after all," Sapphire pointed out fairly.

"Guards with benefits," Moira chuckled again. "This is either going to end with broken hearts, or it'll drag on forever. Not sure which so far."

"We'll know soon enough, but take it slow. Don't want to scare our potential guardian off on the first round," Rasine said.

-x-x-x-

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1930 Hours Local time)  
>(Hess' Quarters, Administration Building 4th Floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 3 of campaign)

Cynthia, Toni, and Victoria were likely the smartest persons in the room, Hess figured. Of everyone who was bored to the point of clawing at the walls, said three ladies had decided to fall asleep at the table, though Hess had them relocated to the bed (Toni) or to the couches (Cynthia, Victoria). Hence, the three were busily doing a session of 'dueling snoring' between the three, which made for a strangely lulling background sound to the remainder of the work.

The legal sorting and reorganization had taken its time to execute, and even Hess had to admit it was boring work, if necessary. With that onerous task completed, only one task remained in the initial setup.

"Organization designation," Legion Commander Lightbringer said with gravity.

"That's going to be the big one. What name we choose will make things either an uphill battle, or a laughingstock, or somewhere in between," Clint said.

"No fun, I was kind of partial to the Killer Bunny Brigade," Clarence said with clear humor.

"Thank you for just giving me an idea for one of the unit names," Clint took the name down on his notepad.

"I racked my brain on this one last night, and came up with nothing worth talking about," Erich admitted.

"Some of the best merc units are named after their Commanding Officers," Star Colonel Storme pointed out fairly.

"Not happening," Hess said definitively. "I am not the kind of guy that people rally behind."

_Don't sell yourself short, big guy_, Lightbringer thought but did not say. "Animal motifs?"

"I would say American Eagle Protectorate, but that is the name of a clothes brand that I wouldn't wear to begin with, much less want to be confused with," Clarence pointed out.

"Wild Turkey would cause a cognitive dissonance in anyone we crossed…" Clint said, then petered his sentence out when he saw the looks from the rest of the persons at the table. "What? Sounded good inside the confines of my mind."

"There's a limiter in your explanation that makes all the difference, scrawny one," Erich said with a smile. "Care to guess?"

"Uh, inside the confines of my mind?" Clint asked.

Gerald chuckled. "I was once told by an old friend of mine, 'your name is in the mouth of others. Make sure it has fangs.' He got it from somewhere, don't remember where, and I've probably misquoted it, but I always kept it to heart and it has served me well over the years. You will want to do the same, here; your name, Hess, is already pretty well sharpened; another Erich Hess is one of the most feared Executors, if one of the rarest seen in public. If you can earn your reputation, the two of you should have no problem playing off each other's fear factor."

"That's a nice piece of psychological warfare," Erich said with a smile. "That means that the name I choose would need to grow fangs. I would say, probably something… neutral, not living, would make a good starting point. Something that we could turn into a living being by reputation, give it the fangs that are needed."

"Iron Rain would do, maybe?" Clint asked.

"Only for the Mercenary Unit," Clarence shot back. "Or for a merc sub-unit." The Commander TraDoc took down the name, and listed it as a possible aerospace unit.

"Sierra, maybe?" Clint countered. "Or maybe one of the other Phonetics?"

That offering caused Jeff Evans to perk up. "What did you say, Clint?" he asked.

"Sierra, as in the letter S, in NATO Phonetic."

"S… Sigma?" Jeff asked in counter.

The table was silent for slightly over a minute, considering the possibility. "Multimage Protectorate of Sigma?"

"A bit catchy," Clarence said.

"Sigma Mercenaries," Clint tried. "Yeah, has a ring to it, not entirely sure what."

"Sigma Railguard, Sigma Defensive Forces, Sigma Industrial Services," Gerald tried a few more. "Nothing sounds out of place, technically. Like you said, it sounds neutral, so you will have to add the fang to it."

Clarence fell into a chuckling fit. "What's so funny, number-cruncher?"

"Not exactly the picturesque namesake, when you think about it. I mean, Sigma is about as neutral as you could think about, it even sounds bland and unimpressive. Vanilla name means we're going to have the uphill battle earning some reputation."

"Beats the hell out of being the laughingstock," Star Colonel Storme said with a sweet smile toward Clint.

"Killer bunnies," Clint said, pointing at her in an accusatory fashion. "You know that would make a creepy badass unit name."

"Virtue, verify Sigma is unused as a Protectorate or Mercenary name," Erich said to forestall the coming tension between Jamison and Storme.

"Confirmed, no such political entity name exists," Virtue said.

"Floor objections?" Hess asked. The group was silent for twenty, thirty seconds. "Looks like we have a winner. Protectorate of Sigma it is. Virtue, go ahead and apply new naming convention to the sub-units," Erich said.

"So, now that we have the top level setup done, what's the position titles?" Clarence asked.

"We'll set callsigns on the top level positions. I'll go as Sigma One. Clint, Sigma Two. Clarence, Sigma Three. Victoria, Sigma Four. As we deploy further command positions, we'll assign other callsigns," Hess delineated for the group.

"Guess that works," Lightbringer said. "I'll finalize the paperwork and have everything submitted with a fast-track flag."

"Setup process is done," Clarence said with a sigh.

"Now the real fun begins," Erich said. "We just built ourselves a career cleaning up some of the nastiest scum in Existence. Now we get to do the scrubbing."

"We gonna need some badass scrub brushes for this mess, boss," Clint said.

Hess glanced at Jeff Evans. "I think I already have a few new scrub brushes in mind."

-x-x-x-

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 2100 Hours Local time)  
>(Parade Grounds, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 3 of campaign)

"Guess this is it for my involvement… for now, I daresay," Gerald Lightbringer said. "Can't wait to see the total butthurt of the larger merc units once word gets out of how you are 'cheating' the mercenary network."

"I expect there will be a lot of hand-wringing and howling at the moon on such subjects," Hess said with a smile. "Still, I'm just doing as I have been commissioned…"

"Ah, speaking thereof," Nereus said as he joined the Legion Commander and the Militiaman. "These documents are relevant to your pursuits," he handed over two envelopes to Sigma One.

"Commissioning Document, Bill of Fees, and Disposition of Salvage and Supplies, Mercenary Contract E-1817," Hess read off the front of the white 8x14 envelope. "Contract to Protectorate of Sigma, from Master Executor Eric Atrebas, for the clearing and demolition of the Interdimensional Jumper Trains."

"This one is for the elimination of the Slavers Guild," Clarence said, looking at the second portfolio. "Looks like we're officially under commission now."

"I'll have to review those docs before we begin, but I want to plan on beginning the process on the captured train tomorrow — we start with the engines, get them out and get them on cradles for transport," Hess said.

"I figured you'd say that," Clarence said with a smile. "I'll have Clint provide two Militia units to the disassembly effort. I think you'll need to finish up the legal stuff, as well as get some material and equipment purchases done."

"Yeah, big one right now is getting our hands on some wheel loaders with trenching blades — we'll need them for running new power cable for the Jump Engines," Erich mused. "Clint, you'll need to — what the fuck are you doing, scrawny one?" Hess asked as Clint was trying to hang upside-down and look under the shoulder plate of one of the Magi Armored Infantrymen.

"Dude, have you checked this armor unit out?" Clint asked while still inspecting the shoulder plate underside. "This stuff looks like it's heavy enough to take direct fire from a tank's gun and be survivable."

"It is," Legion Commander Lightbringer acknowledged. "Without the shield, the latest armor systems can withstand repeated bursts of 120mm Autocannon. Add in the shield, and you'd have to chew through a full ton of 140mm or 150mm autocannon ammo to drop the trooper."

"Ouch," Hess groused. He was studying in the morning and evening on the extant battlefield technologies of the Star Empires, and one of the first things he had looked up was tank guns (Autocannons). If Victoria had been truthful in accusing Hess of being Technosexual, she would certainly have accused him of being Hoplophallic after reading up on some of the common Mobile Army weapons of the day, and for good cause.

"Clint, stop harassing the poor trooper," Clarence groused.

"Agreed," Erich said. "We'll work out an arrangement for preparing Infantry Armor at a later time, if the Magi will grant an export license for it."

"Already have it," Lightbringer said. "One of the first agreements you signed was an authorization to import any weapons systems, mobile army units, ships, or aircraft available to the Touman, excepting Nuclear or Antimatter weapon systems."

"Oh, I thought that only applied to ScrapNet purchases," Hess answered.

"Hell no, big guy, that applies to any contractor or manufacturer in the Empire. There is nothing stopping you from dialing up Lunar Technical and ordering a wing of Fireball Aerofighters right now." Gerald paused to consider something, then shook his head. "Neg, scratch that. Tomorrow at 0001 hours, it is legal. The Protectorate status takes full hold, along with all agreements, as of midnight plus one minute."

Hess looked to Clarence. "Don't get any bright ideas, Clarence. We are going to purchase the heavy artillery sparingly for now. Small arms and support weapons are another story, though. I think I'm going to start my day off reviewing small arms. Contrary to Clint's desires, the duty weapons for the Mercs are unlikely to be the Kalash series. For the Militia, I might consider the 74-series, but I'm probably going to standardize across the board, and likely to standardize on a STANAG solution."

"I hope you're not planning to do an M16 or M4," Clint half-shouted from the far side of the trooper he was inspecting.

"What's wrong with the M4?" Lightbringer asked. "I love the M4A4 for dealing with point unarmored targets in close or medium combat. Hellishly effective when used with the Infantry Armor auto-stabilized aiming systems. Throw a short-barrel Saiga 12 underneath with explosive shells, and you can take care of any pesky Level IV, Dragon Scale, or Ceramex armored troopers. If it's wearing heavier armor, use an anti-armor weapon like a pulse rifle or Infantry Support Laser."

"Why would you not want a Kalash? Ammo's everywhere, weapons are rugged as fuck, and both the 7.62x39 and the 5.45x39 are considered ballistically more effective than the 5.56x45," Clint argued.

"Simple. If we take a contract with a NATO outfit, would you want to be swinging AKs in the vicinity of troops who have been trained to fire on that sound?"

Clint peeked out from behind the trooper's shield. "Good point, boss, didn't think about that."

"I'll give the AK series rifle credit where due, but the Magi have been using the 5.56 weapon systems for over an eon for light target interdiction. If it sucked as much as an AK operator thinks it does, why does the biggest Star Empire of all issue them routinely?" Erich sealed his argument.

"Okay, okay, it rubs me the wrong way, but I think I'll bite my tongue on this one," Clint admitted.

"FN SCAR," Hess said simply.

"You shitting me?"

"Saw a bulk shipment of them on ScrapNet, 27,000 units, 200 c-bills a piece. I'm kinda thinking Remington ACR, though, we'll have to review both."

Clint ducked back behind the trooper's shield, then came out again. "What time are you planning on doing these tests?"

Hess looked to the Legion Commander. "See, sir, this is what conversations with this ack-operator usually do. They start on one subject, meander to the next, take a sharp turn left, head nose-first for the gutter, make a big mess on impact, somehow keep rolling into the minefield next door, and onward into the sunset."

Gerald chuckled with a grin. "I've known more than a few people over the years with the same mindset, and I noticed you share the same talent."

"Guilty as charged," Erich readily admitted.

"You've got a solid crew here, big guy," Lightbringer said. "Technically untrained, but hearts and minds in the right places. With the support, supply, and oplan you have, I'm sure you shall get the necessary results."

"Here's to hoping it goes as planned," Hess admitted.

"Ah, that reminds me," Gerald reached into a cargo pocket on his pants, and came out with a bottle of vodka. "This one is from the Empress. Her offer to you: on the completion of your first contract, a celebratory shot for the troopers involved and yourself."

"Much obliged to the Empress for the consideration," Hess said. "I have a feeling that, with the rapid-fire nature of the contracts, we will have a lot of drinks to raise."

"You make it to a thousand contracts, I'll buy the drinks," Gerald said. He offered his hand for a shake. "Good luck, Hess. I'll be keeping an eye on the news wires for your noise."

Hess took the hand for a good shake. "I'll try to fly low and slow for as long as possible, but eventually someone will put the noise to a location."

"Ghosts, Armored Commandos, we're out of here!" Gerald said. "Star Colonel Storme, It's on you to keep the interest of the Empire in proper place here. Good luck; as soon as they have the Jump Engines active, have them grab your Gundam and Omnimech for use here, they have hangar space aplenty available."

"Will do, Legion Commander. Give my regards to the front office pukes, they completely misread this one," she said after she came to attention.

"_**Gate to Commando Administration Building**_," Gerald pointed the flat of his hand toward an open area of the parade grounds, then waved the Armored Infantry through before himself.

-x-x-x-

(20 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 2130 Hours Local time)  
>(Hess' Quarters, Administration Building 4th Floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 3 of campaign)

Hess thumbed his way into the door at his quarters, took two paces inside, and stopped. He realized after the fact that Toni was not in her bed, and he had walked past someone with not even realizing the person were there. After a moment of considering it, the answer to 'who' it was was fairly obvious to Hess, given her breathing pattern.

"There are only two types of people that actively wait for me. Those who are actively waiting for me to fix something, and those who are pissed off enough at me to try to force the issue. At a guess, you don't have any broken equipment for me to work on."

"You're right, which means this is about a beef," Toni answered with frustration in voice. "Why did you not wake me up after you had finished with the legal wrangling? I wanted to be in on the namesake decision process! Much less be there to see the Legion Commander off."

"It was his suggestion to leave the three of you as you were," Erich pointed out fairly. "And, truth be told, I know well that we are headed for many sleepless nights in the future; you can rack up the hours on those days."

_Does he know about my — no way, he can't know my maybe-maybe-not-feelings on this subject_, Toni thought but did not say. She decided a test was in order. "You know something that I might want to know, big guy?" she asked in a slightly more demure fashion.

"Yeah, I know that now we have gone official, we will be ass deep in reprisals and threats," Hess said, with answer was both expected and disappointing to Toni. "And I have personnel distribution handled at the top level, except you," the big guy continued as he walked into the room and to the gear racks in the northwest corner. Once there, he began the process of disassembling the harness and pistol belt he had worn pretty much continually since arrival on planet, except for morning showers.

"Except me?" Toni asked.

"Yeah, I have official positions for everyone except you," Erich said after he hung up the H harness on the wall. "Funny, I've come to rely on this gear set, but now that I command a military in theory if not in actuality, I need to assemble a new and slightly more standardized kit."

Toni disregarded his tangential thought. "What about Jeff and Cynthia?"

"How effective are you at holding information close?" Sigma One asked the semi-stealthy Phoenix standing behind himself.

"Somewhat, if it is worth keeping concealed," she answered truthfully.

"Well, I overheard Jeff and Nereus yesterday, discussing if it would be possible for him to acquire a last few hours of helicopter training to complete his flight certification. If he's that close, he has a general idea how to run a whirly, and one of the things we need is active helos. We need transport, we need mobility, and we need a good, destructive attack helo or several. I was going to ask him tomorrow about putting that talent to use."

"That's… wow. Do you know what bird you are going to use?" Toni asked, now interested in where this was going.

"Yeah, the Apache IIM R3, which just went into production about four years ago. It's the nastier great-granddaughter of the Apache from my homeland, just with a fusion engine, ER Medium Lasers, electromagnetic machine cannons, and about 12 tons of available payload instead of the 2 tons on the original," Hess said as he approached his bed and sat down on it. "Opinion?"

"Everything I heard about it before I ventured onto the train said it was rock solid. Put two wings of those in the skies, you've got some serious pain to dispense," Toni said as she grabbed a chair from the table and sat down backwards in front of Erich. She figured, if she was going to get any kind of reaction out of him, being a bit direct and forward would be the way to go.

"How long were you on the train?" Hess asked with some gravity to voice. Erich definitely noticed her rather forward posture, but said nothing about it out of latent sense of chivalry.

"Six months, give or take," she answered. "It got disorienting after a while, hard to tell time accurately."

"Okay, that gives me two options for you, then," Hess said. "One, you can head up the unit to clear the Trains. You command the effort, you command the troops, you get the people out so Victoria can get them home or get them settled. Follow?" he asked.

"I hear you, and that's a hard offer to refuse. I wasn't violated when I was on the Trains, I always stayed a step ahead of the Slavers or could kill them, but I've been in a sleeper car where that was happening down the hall. That's something you never forget, especially when you're not in a position to stop it. Still, what's your second option?"

Hess sighed, and Toni could tell he was hesitant to ask the next. "I need a security detail for when the shit hits the fan, but I also need an admin assistant, someone to back-check my work, and someone to lean on or vent on when needed." He sighed again. "In my prior job, I was that guy that the rest of the team could lean on, call on for the unusual stuff, back-check the others. I know, with this position, I will need the assistance."

"You've got it," Toni said in a rush.

"That fast?" Erich asked.

"I discussed this with Victoria earlier today. She agreed that I would be a good candidate for security, but she did point out I need a lot more work in firearms skills."

Hess chuckled. "You have the basics. Drill will cover the rest."

"And, one thing, sir," Toni prompted him.

"Listening," Hess said.

"I'm going to put together a security team for you. It will be unconventional. It will be commented on, in more ways than one. Things may get interesting for you, at more than one level."

Hess could easily see through what she was intending. "You're going to prep an all-star team of nonhumans, probably with various magic talents, as something of a warning to the primarily-human mafiosi and racist groups that the positions of egalitarianism are not a joke."

Toni deflated after the answer sunk in. "How did you see — oh, yeah, analyst."

"I was going to assemble several units around the clear non-humans in the ranks, you know, the Dragons, the Phoenix, a couple others, but with a security detail starting out like this, I think I may have to hold off to form up a full unit," Erich explained nonchalantly.

Toni squirmed at the thought. She was born Magi, which meant she was protected by a society that was truly post-racial on the nonhuman issue, but she wasn't ignorant to the problems in the other Star Empires. And now, she served a guy that wanted to prevent those problems just the same.

"You can relax a bit, Toni. I had a bit of a suspicion on your hair color that you were some manner of undeclared nonhuman. After some research this morning, typing you as a Celestial Phoenix was not too difficult," Erich admitted.

"Do you care?" Toni blurted out before she could suppress the question in her mind.

"Yes, actually, I do care. I do care that someone who has plenty of historical cause to fear genocide is still willing to defend me. That tells me you're either crazy, or you have some manner of emotional attachment to this plan," Sigma One said.

Toni suppressed a giggle at his analysis, mainly because she had been thoroughly read by the boss. "What brings you to those conclusions?" she asked with another giggle.

"MICE," Hess said. "The four primary motivators: Money, Ideology, Conscience, Emotion. Money is out; you don't strike me as the Material Girl type. Ideology is possible, if you're aiming to build more street cred for the non-humans. Conscience is possible, you just admitted you would take a stab at clearing the trains, and that is a conscience effort. Emotion is possible, but only if you qualify as high-functioning crazy and are trying to use the Protectorate as a bludgeon for some purpose."

"Not exactly what I would have figured you meant for emotion," Toni said.

"Well, the full acronym I use is MICES, Money, Ideology, Conscience, Emotion, Sex. I automatically deprecated the last of those options; in this building, I rank in the bottom four in physical appearance and attractiveness. Figured you'd take a swing at Clint long before me."

_Holy shit, this guy has a really low opinion of himself_, Toni thought behind a frown. "Yeah, I'd take a swing at Clint with a baseball bat before I slept with him," Toni groused to cover for her scowl. "Don't sell yourself short, sir. This is a wide-open landscape," she said.

Hess sighed again. "And that's part of what I'm afraid of. More than one ruler in the old histories of my world went down the drain in the arms of the wrong person. Let's just say I'd like to be real cautious about the issue before I jump into it."

_So I'm not completely sunk by his near-zero confidence yet_, Toni thought passively. "Well, you'll be here a long time, and there's plenty of options. I'd recommend putting some analysis to it, there's an answer out there somewhere," Toni said, trying to lead him toward making the leap of faith.

Hess raised an eyebrow at her comment. "How did we go from security arrangements to dating advice?" he asked after a moment.

"It's a talent, conversations follow their own road," Toni said with a smile.

"No argument from me," Erich agreed, given he had just gone through the same wordplay with the Legion Commander. "I accept your offer to form up a security detail, with you as the unit lead." Sigma One looked up toward the ceiling and the intercom speaker therein. "Virtue, please inform Victoria tomorrow morning that Toni will be heading up the selection detail for my security unit."

"Roger that, sir," Virtue answered. "If barracks talks are to be heeded, Toni will be busy most of the day tomorrow vetting candidates."

"Excellent," Toni said. "Guess I'd better get back to sleep."

"Tomorrow morning, 0630, meet me down in the shooting range for some intermediate rifle and pistol training. Bring your M4, I'll have munitions available." Hess again looked up to the speakers. "Virtue, can you fast-track a Storage Interface for the shooting range?"

"Already planned, will move the priority up. Theoretically I can have the third-shift maintenance group put it in by 0700," the AI announced.

"Good, since I intend to start reviewing assault rifles tomorrow, that will help." Hess looked back down from the ceiling to Toni. "Sleep fast, milady of the skies. Tomorrow will be a busy day."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Chapter Afterword<strong>:

This is where the things get moving in the necessary directions.

First, you'll notice that two specialists with rather interesting attitudes have been added to the ranks. Luna Fallsorth, Motive Systems Engineer for a rail company on a Magi backwater planet, a former biker with an engineering background, a ZZ-Top beard, and a foul attitude towards dunderheaded management. He is going to find out fairly quickly in the next chapter that when he left 'Dumbfuckistan Rail Freight', that was the end of his management woes. Now, as to whether or not he finds a proper girlfriend in the new confines, that's another story entirely. Luna had two prior engagements, both of which fell apart before the wedding.

Mosley Goodwin, former Jump Engine Technician Journeyman, joined up to help avenge his fallen comrades and take the trains out of commission permanently. At the opposite end of the spectrum from Luna, Mosley is a family man, decent (and somewhat adventurous) wife, three kids (two sons and a daughter), responsible, knowledgeable, calm, and willing to silently go the extra mile to get a job done. More is the better, as the Sigma battleplan requires the extra mile and voiding warranties to achieve the proper ends. And who knows, maybe the rest of the Goodwin family will make some noise on their own?

Second, with the conclusion of the negotiations, the game begins for Sigma in its entirety. Now that the protections are in place and the Protectorate is established, it is theoretically safe for the Protectorate to start the systematic scrapping of the Jumper Trains, theoretically safe for them to begin mercenary operations, and theoretically safe for them to expand throughout Terra 232. Note the copious use of the word 'theoretically' in that prior description. While the Protectorate status is engineered to prevent any kind of high-level reprisal, in actuality the Protection is considered 'paper' protection and an entity that is willing to take the hit and sacrifice assets could still flatten Sigma. That said, the protection of the Magi is the paper side, the protection from the Executors is the real-world entity — a force that thinks they could take the hit and just steamroll Sigma might quickly find themselves on the wrong side of the battlefield from beings they cannot do battle with under any expectation of survival.

And then there is the whole security detail thing for the Militiamen. I won't go through anything pertaining to that in depth, mainly because it will all be spelled out to a significant degree in coming chapters and side stories, but things will get very unusual there. You can probably guess the direction it may be headed by undertones in the convo, and a lot of it gets spelled out in Chap 5, but suffice it to say that the whole story get a shit-ton more convoluted than where it simply appears to be headed.

Be on the lookout for the first side-story of the series to drop soon as well. It will cover some of the armaments and training aspects of the coming series, setting the tone for how Sigma begins to earn its reputation.

Other than that, not much else to say today. **NEXT UP**: Now that the preparation is concluded, time for business to get going. And, in the midst of it all, the seeds of coming conflict shall be sown...

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><p><strong>Review Replies<strong>: 5 Reviews for Chapter 3! Good to see this story is gaining traction!

Ragnar28190: Much obliged for the review, and also for the recommendation to start posting to Spacebattles. I get that recommendation off and on. Thanks!

HolyDragoon: NP on login, sj1t happens and all that.

Not sure if I ever made a race of unicorns canon to any part of my story. Will need to review notes, verify if I did? I've probably forgotten more stuff writing this out than I can admit to remembering.

The issue with the Slavers is an interesting one. Once commissioned and Apprenticed, the Slavers are very decentralized. Theoretically, Hess could go quite a while killing or capturing Slavers and nobody would be the wiser, so…

The M4 Sherman (AKA the Ronson, which was a type of use-anywhere lighter that you 'strike once and it lights up') was a wrongheaded approach to armor tactics and we deliberately did better in subsequent designs. The Abrams may not be the best on the battlefield (arguably — the leaderboard is between the Brits, Americans, Germans, and French, with the margin coming down to whose crew is better), but it is an order of magnitude above and beyond the east-bloc competition right now, so the ghost of the M4 is dead and gone. Americans fight smarter now, and you see echoes of that philosophy in this story.

Vietnam was a bollocks job, and not for a military reason. Knives91 pointed it out: Politics is the deadliest of battlefields. I read somewhere that after the war was over, General Westmoreland and General Minh got together and compared their maps. After all the analysis was hashed out, the conclusion was that the North Vietnamese were within 6 months of folding, if the US had not gone pussy. Vietnam was the picture-perfect example of politicians failing to fight a war properly, and the ISIS conflict is rapidly devolving into the same class of clusterfuck. Remember, even after we withdrew from South Vietnam, it still took the NVA over a year to get their shit going and actually finish the campaign. That alone is good evidence that we had them hosed but failed to deliver the killing blow.

By nature, Common Sense cannot be a government policy. Common Sense does not consolidate power, thereby it is considered bad government action. On the other hand, Sigma is more of a military formation commanded by problem-solvers, so common sense and explosive maintenance are considered perfectly reasonable solutions.

KPhoenix: Vash's actions are not exactly uncommon — lots of people have complaints, they also don't have lots of solutions. Still, given his complaints, he'll jump at an option to save lives before things have to get destructive.

The responsibilities shift bit by bit, but for now the positions are solid. Hess has overall command, Clint has military subcommand, Clarence controls the business ops, and Victoria manages the personnel. The real shake comes down to the next level of command, and how they train up. Decisions made now will change fates in the coming times.

As to how far the speech was broadcast, it was heard both in the Train and throughout the base, so everyone got a good earful, and anyone in the case of those nearby monitors, they got a good view as well. Additionally, since it is archived and public, it will be played back off and on for explanation and motivation in the future.

The 1930s stuff was a bit of an interesting thing to do after the fact. I didn't really have a plan for the scene to begin with, it was just something I threw in willy-nilly, but ex post facto I can see it going somewhere. As to 'locking that info down', not at this point. What I wrote was just the headlines. There is supposedly thirty minutes of interview to go in with it between the headlines.

Your self-answer is very much accurate. More to the point, Hess did not try to engage them since he knew by appearance he looked like something worse than the Slavers, and he deliberately did not want to draw their ire in close quarters. Nothing can ruin a gunslinger's day faster than being caught in a position where a blade-wielder can outflank you.

On the parts of Magi law that Hess dislikes, mainly the Trial by Combat structure, but the bulk of his objection was premature. Magi law, or what is now hybridized into Sigma law, is a lot more cut-and-dried than the USC and CFR..

Good to see you are liking the OCs, and there will be more, and more diverse ones. I am constantly updating and improving my random-generation systems, so expect constantly shifting results!

Knives91: Have not done Destiny yet, so that status is still up in the air. Borderlands is definitely possible, though.

As I said in review reply, a variation or three of that scene will show up later :) And I figured there was no alcohol or hallucinogens involved, I was considering something similar and my last drink was before New Years.

Winblades: I am trying to keep this ship a lot tighter, a lot more in control. Thanks!

As always, much thanks for the reviews! The feedback is motivation to continue the writing!

* * *

><p><strong>The Gripe Sheet<strong>:

No gripes. Much obliged to **Sieben Nightwing**, **Takeshi Yamato**, **One Village Idiot**, and **Necroblade** for keeping the writing straight!

* * *

><p><strong>Footnotes<strong>:

No footnotes for this chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Included Works<strong>:

—Real Life Armaments — too many to name, that is most of the arsenal shown.  
>—Real Life Combat Gear — the vests and gear carried by the Militia troops are easily constructible from stuff you can buy on Amazon or Cheaper Than Dirt. No, Seriously, Look it up. Do a search for "UTG Modular 10-Piece Complete Kit", and you have a good look at a starter kit for any serious gearhound.<br>—Real Life Concepts  
>—Real Life Time Period: 1930s New York City (Shown in Chapter 2, referenced here in newspaper headlines)<p>

—Real Life Mythology: The Phoenix race of beings are derived from the mythological Phoenix (Egyptian) and Thunder Bird (Native American). That said, I have made some serious modifications to the whole principle that will be revealed in coming chapters.

—Personal Works: The Star Empires are mentioned briefly here. Additionally, the Magi Empire is named specifically.  
>—Personal Works: The Star League is a derivation of the Star League from Battletech, but founded by Queen Sora Serenity (Executor-Queen Sora Takenouchi).<br>—Personal Works: The Executors are specialized Mages who have transcended a minimum of twice (Gods and Goddesses are a minimum Transcendance of once) and are specially commissioned to defend life and honor amongst the Star League territories or member states.  
>—Personal Works: The 10mm Kurz cartridge is a shortened  lower velocity / lower weight version of the 10mm BG round, developed by the Magi for 'crowd pleasing' against large masses of Negaverse troops, most of which were unarmored during the Star Empire Wars. It quickly became a favored heavy machine gun round for multiple purposes after the fact. (Shown in Chapter 1)  
>—Personal Works: Gerald Lightbringer is most famous for his participation in my Jokers Wild series, but his history is far stranger than either story properly shows.<p>

—Anime General: the oddball hair colors, especially endemic to nonhumans.  
>—Anime General and D&amp;D: the nonspecific concept of Elves, Nymphs, and Sylphs.<br>—Anime Trigun: Vash The Stampede, Millie Thompson, and Meryl Strife took the wrong train, ended up hanging out, and now are tagging along with the Militiamen.

—Game: Battletech: You are starting to see some serious discussion of Battletech units and force concepts in this chapter. They will become more prevalent as the story marches on.  
>—Game: Dungeons and Dragons (First Edition): A lot of the spellcraft will be drawn from D&amp;D as well as other sources to be named.<br>—Game: Dungeons and Dragons (First Edition): The concept of the Dragons of many colors is drawn from the D&D First Edition Monster Manual. Some mods were made (the Platinum dragon is not unique, and the Eternal Dragon is a wholly new class).  
>—Game: Final Fantasy IX: The player cast of the game (Zidane, Dagger, Steiner, Freya, Vivi, Eiko, Red, and Quina) are residing in one of the dining cars, but do not have a role as of yet. That will change in a few chapters.<br>—Game: Infantry Online (Sony Online Entertainment): The CAW from the early section, and named in the stinger, is a different-manufacturer version of the Kuchler A6 CAW. (Shown in Chapter 1)


	5. Chaos and Checkbooks

(Sigma Mercenaries, Story 0001: Initial Public Offering)  
>(Chapter 05: Chaos and Checkbooks)<p>

(21 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 0530 Hours Local time)  
>(Exterior Balcony, Administration Building 4th Floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 4 of campaign)

"So, if I placed the order quickly, the equipment would be ready in several hours?" Hess asked by way of the integral microphone on his ruggedized tablet.

"Correct," the Caterpillar Customer Service Rep acknowledged. "We can have them moved into ScrapNet Storage and transferred to you in four hours Lima, which is probably going to be 2.5 hours your time if I'm doing the transitional math correctly. You do have an area deployment system for ScrapNet, correct?"

"25 meters by 100 meters, with a ceiling height of 40 meters in that area," Hess acknowledged.

"If I may ask, your requirements for four wheel excavators, two trenchers, two backhoes, this is not an entirely unusual request inside Magi territory, but Terra 232 is Star League territory? Or are you doing cabling for military facilities?"

"Actually, no and yes to your questions. Yes, I am doing cabling for military facilities. Yes, the facility is on Terra 232. No, the planet is no longer Star League territory. The planet switched over to Protectorate status last night."

"Oh!" the lady exclaimed. "That explains it! You must be from the Protectorate of Sigma. I was wondering why we would receive a heads-up on some heavy-equipment purchases for you. We also have a message from Legion Commander Lightbringer: purchases for the first three months are ten percent reduced for the Protectorate, the Commandos will be picking up the remainder."

"Hard to argue with, especially with the 3 month window. I was looking at some track excavators and articulated trucks, since there will be more digging projects involved than just this first one. Add a pair of the 320-series Excavators, need both the standard bucket and the high-cap bucket. Also add three of the 730-series articulated trucks. Account information should be included with the original purchase order."

"Understood, sir, adding to the order now. Total sale and transfer price will be on your screen shortly." After a quick recalc, Hess had the new total.

"Nice. Still under two million C-bills, and everything we need for our present project," Erich said.

"If I may, sir, what exactly are you intending for this equipment purchase? I might be able to assist with structuring the proper equipment for your task."

"This task is a four-phase job. First, we trench for a fusion power cable from a building to a remote location."

"Trenchers and backhoes are perfect for that," the Caterpillar rep said.

"Second phase, at the remote site, we process a hole in the ground thirty meters long, fifty meters wide, and ten meters deep, shored up with 1-inch steel the whole way around."

"Excavators and articulated trucks," the CAT rep said. "Again, perfect equipment for the job."

"Phase three is we move some large objects into the vicinity and mount them to permanent frames attached to the iron plate shoring inside the hole. Each object will weigh 50 tons or thereabouts. Excavators can move those in, right?" Hess asked.

"Actually, no, too heavy for excavators to lower in properly. What you need is either a dedicated pipelayer machine to lift or remove these large objects, or a crane rated for 50 tons, though such heavy-rated cranes are have limitations for distance of operation. A pipelayer can do the job while maneuvering the load without the need for stationary bracing or emplacement, and can be used to lay down the fusion power cable you intend in step one without jury-rigging to the excavators."

"Works for me. Add a pipelayer to the purchase, minimum rating 60 tons."

"And your fourth phase?"

"Phase four is emplacing safety plating over the hole and equipment, as well as placing such plating in an area around the hole to facilitate safe equipment operation over a large area. The ground is already reasonably leveled, and the backhoe excavators can handle any other grading tasks," Hess said to forestall another pitch.

"And I was kinda hoping to get a grader sale out of this project," she said in a semi-joking manner.

"Happy thought, but not really necessary at this time," Hess sympathized. "You do account management, normally?"

"Indeed, mister Hess," she answered. "As well as support and parts ordering."

"Hang around, this Protectorate is going places. Lots of places. Equipment will be needed in those places, and Caterpillar is the _sine qua non_ of hard-use equipment in my homeland. For now our industrial and construction needs are limited, but soon enough we will be expanding."

"Understood, sir. One thing before I place the order, do you have any requests for paint jobs or symbols?"

"Yes, you can leave minor manufacturer markings, but primary symbol is… uploaded now," Hess said. "Paint preference is Basic Khaki as a base color, with black highlights on articulated or working equipment. Can do?"

"Easily, sir," she said. "Anything else?"

"Not at present. I will be in touch for further purchases and recommendations," Erich said with some warmth.

"Thank you, sir. If I may, one question?" she said.

"Hit me," Hess said.

"What exactly is your position in the Protectorate?" she asked bluntly.

"I am, well, something of an all-purpose administrator. Planning, purchasing, high-level coordination, diplomatic relations, operational command, problem solving. I don't have a title, I simply operate under the callsign Sigma One."

It took the lady on the far side of the line several seconds to realize what that callsign meant. "Oh, oh wow, here I am being flip with a planetary administrator! My apologies, sir, I didn't know!"

"You have done nothing for which an apology is needed, in fact I owe you thanks for setting my processes straight. Virtue, execute purchase authorization."

"Purchase authorized at up to standard rate," Virtue reported.

"Confirmed, I show the funds released. Equipment will be prepared and ready in four hours," Account Manager Belle reported.

"Now, I have some training to conduct, so I must be going. I bid you good evening, milady. Sigma One, out." Hess tapped the terminate call control on his screen. "Virtue, as soon as the gear hits our inventory, get it ready for deployment. Time is money, and we need both."

-x-x-x-

(21 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 0900 Hours Local time)  
>(ScrapNet Equipment Bay, Administration Building Railhead Undercroft, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 4 of campaign)

"This is… different," Jeff Evans commented. "So, work orders, work orders," he said after he started scrolling through the list on his Maintenance Tablet. A cache of ruggedized computer tablets had been found in a storeroom, recharged and readied for use with the base integral systems. One of those systems was Maintenance Control, which is where Jeff wanted to be — fixing things, or optimally engineering things.

Enough scrolling and he found the necessary work orders for the Jump Engine project. Belatedly, he realized that it was possible to sort and filter the work orders by assigned personnel, and the Jump Engine Project work orders all had him assigned, which told him that the day would be a busy one. Even still, knowing the work order and having the equipment were two different things. The Work order system did not assign personnel to equipment or subtasks in each work order, that honor was left to the individual troops to sort out.

"Okay, Virtue, how do I draw one of the Trenchers for this job?"

"There is an icon for equipment on the work order screen. Swipe it toward the control unit for the ScrapNet system, and the Tablet will send the request to the system for you."

"Got it," Jeff flicked the equipment icon toward the controller, which went from green indicator light to yellow (processing request), then to red (executing request) and warning lights throughout the bay came active to signal incoming or outgoing material.

The ScrapNet system used the same principle of the Jumper Train Engines. A Jump Gate would form over the object to be transported, and a mirror gate would form over the area where it was to be deposited elsewhere in Existence. The two Gates would simply descend over the object, trading airspace for airspace and an object, until the gate hit the ScrapNet Floor Plate and terminated. The limitation of ScrapNet was only in the size of the floorplate that could be assembled, though it was often recommended that persons were not recommended for transport through the ScrapNet system. Weird things could happen, given the temporal-isolation nature of the ScrapNet Storage System.

The actual transfer took less than a full second to move the requested equipment from storage to the pad in front of him. "Freaking awesome," Jeff said. "And it's not Cheese Wagon (1) Yellow. Better and better," he said after he realized the paint was more along the lines of khaki or desert pink than the traditional yellow of construction equipment.

Evans climbed up into the cab of the wheel loader / trencher, sat down, and buckled himself into the four-point harness for safety. The key was already in the ignition, the fuel indicator was already showing a full tank, and he had both a quick-reference card for the controls and a comprehensive instruction manual. Two minutes of study of the quick-ref card, and five minutes looking through the manual, and Jeff figured he had an idea how to operate the wheel loader / trencher easily enough.

Unlike normal vehicles, the engine controls were a bit different on these futuristic Caterpillar machines. Jeff turned the key to 'run', lifted a switch cover next to the key, and flipped the ignition switch. Two cycles and the diesel engine came to life, so he released the ignition and slapped the cover down to prevent misuse of the starter. After a few rough cycles, the diesel engine smoothed out and appeared ready to move, so Evans put it in gear and applied throttle to take it out of the bay.

One major improvement over the Caterpillars of olden days (where Jeff and the Militiamen hailed from, 21st Century America), the newer Caterpillar models had fully-integrated electronic suites as standard, including a projected heads-up dual-phase display system. Jeff took a few moments to adjust the two phases of the display to match, but once aligned for his viewing angle, it provided full information to the operator — fuel, runtime, engine revs, hydraulic systems, and even navigation waypoints and operation instructions. "Virtue, is this machine already integrated with the Maintenance Control systems?" Jeff asked his tablet computer.

"All the construction equipment is integrated with Maintenance Control. Anything you are working on is displayed on your screens, as well as related or conflicting work orders."

"This is excellent," Jeff said. "Will it help me find my zipper if I need to take a whizz?"

"That feature is not installed on your present machine. You'll have to ask for written instructions on those procedures from TRADOC once Clint gets that department set up," Virtue answered in a clear run of sarcastic retort.

"Touché," Jeff acknowledged the hit from the AI entity. "All joking aside, is there any reason why my nav points have me going around the rails, rather than using the short path to get to the internal-base ramp?"

"Safety concerns. With Engineer Falsorth starting his Train Trap system engineering, it is safest for heavy equipment to use the designated drive lanes rather than try to cut across the rail lines," the AI entity answered.

"And no sense starting a bad habit," Jeff concluded as he continued the drive along the outside rail platform to get to the heavy equipment ramps that led to the world above. Five minutes of drive at the slow speed of a wheel loader, he arrived at the ramp and ran up to the building exterior.

Above ground level, the path was not difficult to determine. The Fusion Reactor Room rested under the west wing of the Administration Building, so the lines would start there and run roughly 700 meters north and 400 meters west to the site of the Jump Engine Pad. True to her word, Virtue had already laid out the area that Jeff would need to trench through, using the longer 5-meter trenching blade on the back of his wheel loader.

After Jeff arrived at the cutting lane, he realized something. "Uh, Virtue, the marked cut lane is too wide for my blade."

"This is expected. The cable for the power run is 50 centimeters diameter, you will need to execute three trench cuts and clean out the leftovers with a standard backhoe."

"This is definitely going to take a while," Evans commented. "Now to learn how to handle the trencher." With his seat turned around and the manual in hand, Jeff began testing his control of the trencher blade and related integrated systems. Five minutes of dry-run, he figured he had the method down. "Game time. I wonder…"

-x-x-x-

(21 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1030 Hours Local time)  
>(Administration Building Railhead Undercroft, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 4 of campaign)

"This is everyone?" Engineer Mosley Goodwin asked.

"Just six of us, sir," Scott B. said.

"Now I know you're not of age yet, even by Magi standards," Mosley said. "Still, if you're handy, I think I can talk the boss into signing off on a retroactive waiver for national security purposes. What are your quals?"

"Mobile Suit, Ground Armor, and weapon systems. I worked a lot with my dad doing repairs for the mercenary unit he was attached to," Scott answered.

"Okay. You prove yourself today, I'll put in a good word with the boss. Your turn," he pointed to a lady in her late twenties.

"Manami. Basic home repair skills, willing to learn," Manami H. answered immediately after prompt.

"Sandra. Here to learn, here for the long haul, some wizardry skills for team defense," the large Sylph lady said. Mosley was hoping that her very significant bust wouldn't interfere with her sight, flexibility, or reach, but said nothing. He figured her in the neighborhood of F-cups, but also figured it possible she was above that.

"Glen. No mechanical training, but I'm in to learn the tech's trade. I am a rated Combat Mage, 70th Percentile Standard. Anything comes looking for trouble while we work, I can barbecue them," the Glen N. answered coldly. Another Sylph, Mosley recognized the sky-blue eyes and slight tint to hair, which raised a question to mind: exactly how many Sylph were intending to take this trade?

"Karin. Went to school for weapons engineering, have apprentice time working on static defense emplacements and weapons components repair. Also did some work in European-style blacksmith. Some magic skill, healing spellcraft only," Karin O. reported after Mosley looked to her.

"Before you say it, yes, I am under age, but also a Green Dragon and versed in Asian Smithworks. Here to improve on my technical talents and make sure the Boss gets this party started with a bang," Melissa H. said with a defensive edge to voice.

"Not doubting your intent, and with your being a Dragon, by default you're above age if you're physically a teen in transform," Mosley said, having learned that reality very quickly since he arrived yesterday. Dragons and Phoenix could take on a human form, and that form reflected their relative age in their natural form. A Dragon that was 14 years old in human form was likely in the neighborhood of 180 or 190 actual years old. The equation became trickier with the Phoenix, whose lifecycle loop and relative forms did not reflect the fact that they were reborn every 200 years or so, and as such a Phoenix with the human-form appearance of a toddler could actually be that young, or could actually have been voting for a thousand years. The confusion was significant, but not impossible to work through.

"This it? I was kinda hoping for a bit more of a haul," Engineer Luna Fallsorth said as he approached the group. "Still, I'll only need two persons today. Not a huge amount to my system."

"Karin and miss Green Dragon are yours, Luna. I'll need the rest for engine disassembly," Mosley said.

"Got it. C'mon, ladies, we've got a long and dirty day ahead of us," Luna said as he waved them toward the northernmost rail lines in the facility.

"Scott, Manami, Sandra, Glen, you four are going to be learning the hard way today. Glen, I want you up top in the Heavy Crane System, we will need it for most of the tasks ahead."

"Yes, sir," Glen said as he began a trot down the railhead row toward the ladder up to the crane.

"And make sure you get a safety harness and damn well use it! I've buried more friends from falls than I have for heart disease!" Goodwin ordered. "Once you get the crane activated, position it over the front engine!"

"Better him than me. I hate heights," Sandra said.

"No, you won't have heights to worry about, but you will have a lot of grody, grimy stuff to work with today. Hope you all are not afraid to get dirty," Mosley said, still remembering his last time on the Engine Repair detail five years ago.

"I like getting dirty," Manami said. "The dirtier, the better. Makes the shower at the end of the day that much more worth it."

"At least we get jumpsuits for it, even if they don't fit all that well," Sandra said somewhat archly.

"We can have procurement get them better fitted to your, erm, unusually charming figure," Mosley said. "Now, here's the thing, people. Bring up your tablets."

"Ready," Manami said after she took hold on her tablet. The other two did the same.

Mosley set his tablet into Control mode, to show them what he intended. "These Trains were designed with basic, easily-replaced equipment. They originally belonged to the Dynasty, who are not really the most tech-savvy of the Star Empires, so their equipment is borderline crude and easily disassembled. The first thing we have to do is pull off the Engine Shroud and panels, which is 5 tons of structural material." On the other tablets, they saw a 3-D animation of the shroud coming apart and off the engine housing. "Second, we disconnect the fusion engine, accumulator, and control systems. These will be removed and transported separate of the rest of the Jump Engine, which will reduce the Jump Engine weight to 40 tons or so. The Fusion Engine that powers the whole assembly weighs 52.5 tons itself, so that will need a heavy hauler to get it out to the site."

"Do we have vehicles for moving those?" Manami asked.

"I hope so, or this job is going to go tits up before we're even finished unbolting everything," the engineer said. "Virtue?"

"HEMTT 2 system vehicles have been acquired, including necessary engine cradles for the fusion engine and the jump engine. When needed, they can be deployed from ScrapNet."

"Gods, I love this job!" Mosley said. "It is so bloody nice to work for a Tech Analyst, he thinks of this crap before anyone asks about it and stages the gear for us. Okay, back on topic. Once we have the main engine assembly stripped down, we remove the connections, the bolts holding it in place, and lift it to a HEMTT trainer and roll it." That process was again animated on the tablets in 3-D for visual reference. "The rest of the train engine assembly, frame, structure panels, control cab, all that is left for the final disassembly crew. Our job is the jump engines and necessary systems, nothing more, nothing less. Any questions?"

"When do we begin?" Sandra asked.

-x-x-x-

(21 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1115 Hours Local time)  
>(Barracks Building FB1, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 4 of campaign)

Clint walked into the FB1 Barracks common room, and was immediately reminded that this group was neither a military formation or really a cohesive group. They had been a loose alliance of ladies that were kidnapped into slavery or had grown up on the trains with no real formal education practice.

Thankfully, he could whistle easily and very loudly. One shrill peal of whistle and all conversation ended abruptly. "Listen up, all of you! A lot of you have registered for service in the Militia, the Rail Guard, or the Mercenary formations. As of right now, the Rail Guard is activating two teams for preparation! There are 22 in this barracks group that have volunteered, and I need twenty. Wake it and shake it, daylight is wasting!"

The process of hashing out which twenty would be involved was fairly quick. Ten of the ladies involved deferred, which turned out to be a fortuitous turnaround for Clint. He had planned on paring down the groups by a competition to determine fitness, but with that many ducking out of the first round, he figured he was ready to break them down into teams and let the training determine which group (of two) would be optimal for doing the first train clearing.

The twelve ladies that had opted to go with the plan followed Clint out to the vehicle. "Hop in the back, people, and hang on tight. I'm still getting used to driving a beast like this."

"What is this thing?" Lydia L. asked as she climbed up into the vehicle.

"Sprinter Scout Car," Clint said. "Designed for fast recon and light transport. Everyone in?"

"Yeah, we're good," Olivia Z. answered. "We're good."

Clint put some speed down to get moving from the barracks area to the METARgraphic training field on the far side of the base. "Okay, I've already briefed the first group of volunteers, so I'm going to fill you gals in as well. First off, we believe in training. You will not be sent into the trains without at least some training and conditioning. For the next seven days, you will be learning how to clear Trains, how to move, how to shoot, how and when to take cover, and how to use grenades, flashbangs, and CS. I don't expect perfection, but I will be pushing you for it. Every one of you. This is not botique training, people. This is going to push some of you to the breaking point, but the breaking point is where you need to be to improve."

"Okay, this isn't anything special, then," Lotta G. commented cynically.

"How well do you think you can handle sub-guns?" Clint asked, using an uncommon American term for Submachine guns.

"Well enough to kill a man inside the confines of a train car, why?" Lotta asked.

"How well can the lady next to you use them?" Clint continued the questioning.

"I don't know," Lotta admitted after she looked at Olivia.

"And that is a problem. If you don't know what your teammates can or cannot do, you're already on the way to defeat. If your teammate can't do her job, she's dead and chances are very good that so will you be. We Militiamen did so well in the Trains because we all knew the job inside and out — we know how to move, how to shoot, how to clear cars, and most importantly we know when to get our asses down below cover."

"Can we learn all of that in one week?" The question came from Camille L. toward the back of the group in the load bed.

"All of it? No, certainly not what we Militia have learned over the years," Clint said. "This week will be focused training. You will learn the procedure just for Trains. After the train is cleared, you will take a day stand-down, then we resume training on proper CQB. Training will be continuous for the entire Rail Guard team — the only way to stay on the razor's edge is to train like that is where you belong."

"Got it," Lotta answered.

"Remember, this first one is going to be cake and sauce. With us Militiamen traipsing through, we've done a lot of the dirty work already. The next train is going to be something different."

The Sprinter stopped in front of one of the METARgraphic Holosim fields, where a group had already accumulated. Clint shut the vehicle down and hopped out. "This building is it?" Irina H. asked suspiciously.

"Negative, this building is the field. I just haven't set it up yet for our training session," Clint responded. "All right, everyone, gather around, line up at the tables. Anyone having second thoughts so far?" Nobody answered affirmative. "Excellent. Time to set up." Clint opened up the hard cases behind himself one at a time. Each case had weapons, munitions, or gear for the troopers, but the first thing every person received was a rugged tablet computer. "First thing's first, people. These tablets are to fill in your information for identification and security purposes. If you have a Multimage-issued Codex, that will do, otherwise your information will be used to prepare one for you. This is necessary for registering the rest of your gear."

"Register it?" Olivia asked.

"Correct. The gear is issued to you. You can purchase the gear off the unit after you're paid, but until you purchase it, it is simply issued to you. You won't be penalized for munitions use, we're not tightwads, but your durable goods, such as the tablet, pistols, knives, sub-guns, those we have a reasonable expectation that you will be keeping them secured and accounted for until you purchase them or turn them in. You follow me?"

"Yes, sir! Makes sense," Megan Christenson answered.

"Make sure you fill out your information properly and to the most complete amount possible. Once you're registered, we'll start issuing gear."

"Sir, I don't know how to read or write," Amanda E. noted.

Clint nodded. "Born on the train, I take it?" he asked.

"I was, yes," she said. "My mother was sold into slavery when I was three. I was abandoned on the Train."

"We can work on that. Virtue, can you do a spoken registration?" Clint asked.

"Will do. Please step over to the front end of the Sprinter Scout Car." Amanda moved immediately after she picked up her tablet, which she had dropped in fright after hearing the voice of the Artificial Intelligence entity.

"Anyone else unable to read or write?" Clint asked.

"I am having trouble understanding some of these questions, good sir, doubtless due to more modern patterns of speech? Would it be possible to have the form redone in older script?" the oldest of the guys at the table asked.

"Was not expecting that," Clint said. "If I remember correctly, you are Sir Launcelot?" Sigma Two asked.

"Indeed, good sir," Launcelot said.

"Okay, Virtue, do you have an Old English option, say, 14th Century or in that neighborhood?" Clint asked.

"Standby one," Virtue rewrote the form using an Old English translation system that was considered dubious but reasonably close. "Should be ready, Sir Launcelot."

"Far easier to understand," Launcelot said. "I should be completed momentarily."

"Take your time, make sure your information is accurate. We can change it later, but some things may need to be explained if you want them changed," Clint said not just to the misplaced Knight of the Round Table, but to the whole group. "And yes, Pete, I know you are barely past fifteen, but for this purpose you are waived. You will have separate educational requirements, though, along with Amanda."

The paperwork segment took some fifteen minutes for the personnel to finish completely, which Clint figured was a perfect gauge of temperament. A couple were mildly frustrated, at least one was getting physically antsy, but nobody lost their shit in the process of doing the sign-up. More to the point, there was no refusal to do the sign-up. While under the law a person was not required to register with the government, under Sigma military policy registration was required to be issued anything more expensive than a throwing knife. Equipment tracking and budget requirements, Clint figured. It also helped in making sure everyone was paid promptly for their service.

"Everyone done? Good. Tablets down for now, but you will need them shortly unless you already know how to use MOLLE."

"Is that some kind of weapon?" Ikuno P. asked innocently.

"No, it is a gear set," Clint said after he started to get the feeling that this was going to be a long process. "All of you up here, grab a plate carrier out of this box, one front plate out of box seven, and one rear plate out of box eight."

"Plate carriers? Not using heavier armor?" Lotta asked.

"The Boss is running multiple armor systems through testing in the next couple of days. We're using plate carriers and Level III plates right now because we know that works against the overwhelming majority of weapons threats you will face on the Train. As soon as the boss certifies better armor systems, your gear will be pulled and better equipment issued. We're not in the business of gambling with lives here, so I don't want to send anyone into the Trains with shit gear to end up dragging your body out of the Train. Follow?"

"Understood, sir," Lotta replied immediately. She had figured the Plate Carrier idea was money-saving, but after the fact realized that it was because they knew what worked at least in their experience.

It would be mid-afternoon before the weapons were even issued, given the mixed nature of the group, but Clint figured everyone had to start somewhere. So far, the Rail Guard teams were starting in the low end, but they had their hearts and minds in the right places. He would be proved correct, but not in a fashion he expected.

-x-x-x-

(21 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1300 Hours Local time)  
>(Administration Building second floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 4 of campaign)

"This may be the weirdest summons ever," Toni said to Sidonia. "I mean, not that Hess is doing anything major right now, just grumbling at paperwork, but it's not like Victoria to give us that kind of a terse call."

"Frustration?" Sidonia asked. "Or something else?" the trainer asked after she saw some movement in one of the conference rooms that wasn't expected. Staff was still being drawn up for the project, and not much of that staff was volunteering for the office jobs.

"Something else maybe it," Toni acknowledged at the door to Victoria's office. Two knocks and she pushed the door open a crack. "Toni here, boss lady."

"Come in, grab a seat," Victoria said. Both Phoenix and Trainer entered and took the offered office seats. "Hess told me about you. Sidonia, right? Trainer for the Secret Service detail?"

"That's what I'm aiming for, ma'am. And maybe some training for the protectees as well," Sidonia answered with a smile.

"When we spoke last, you said you wanted to set up a full Secret Service detail, Toni," Victoria prompted her.

"Yeah, I think I might know a few who would be willing to protect the big guy and the rest of the top level, why?" Toni asked.

"A squad of 'em just walked into the conference room down the hall. You probably walked past them or saw them at a distance, depending on how you came up here," Sigma Four said.

"Saw 'em at distance. What are you thinking, ma'am?" Sidonia asked.

"Nine volunteers. Three Nymph, one Sylph, two Humans, one Elven, one Copper Dragon, one Black Dragon. Combined with you, miss Phoenix, that's all the majors except a Tiger."

"And we don't have any Tigers in the unit… yet, that is. Give it time, especially if you're willing to let them in without undue hassle, they'll start pawing at the front door soon enough," Toni completed the thought.

"Roger that," Sidonia said with her own smile. "I hate these for-show gigs but the statement is needed. Badly needed, as it were."

"Something going on down in the enlisted ranks?" Victoria asked.

"I think I might have heard some rumbles from the Deltas. I don't want to name names or point fingers, though, not until I have hard proof. Or, hopefully, if I can report back with good news that it was bullshit," Toni reported.

"Well, that's your job now. Make it happen, one way or the other. As to your volunteers, I told them you'd want to brief them in before they got started, so I directed them to a conference room." Victoria made an adjustment to one of the tablets she had propped up in front of her. "Good luck, girls."

"This isn't going to be luck," Sidonia groused. "This is going to be work. Lots and lots of work."

"Roger that. Once you guys have a morning workout time set up, I want in on it. Any questions or concerns before you take a stab at 'em?" Victoria asked, and received no response. "They're all yours."

"We're on it," Toni said. Sidonia led the way to the conference room, though held position at the closed door. "Time to make it work, Sidonia," Toni said. "I hope you're ready for this one, it will get messy."

"We'll probably be going through linens at a brisk pace," the Trainer said. "Still, if we want the boss to stay in power, we need to keep him happy and keep him alive. Not sure which one is going to be more critical."

"Alive, for now. Happy becomes a problem later on. Maybe we can work on aging / de-aging by spellcraft later?" Toni asked.

"Later," Sidonia said after she pushed against the lever-lock door handle and pushed into the door. Toni followed the Trainer inside and took position at the head of the table, which had grown silent as soon as the door handle ratcheted.

For Toni, identifying the parties in question was quick and simple. The Black Dragon and the Copper Dragon were giveaways in the fluorescent lighting — their hair color said enough. The Black Dragon was certainly nothing to sneeze at, at least in her human form. How well she would do in Dragon form was another story. Miss Copper was even larger and surprisingly stacked a little bit deeper than Toni would have liked, but the flip-side was she had some telltales of being almost as out of shape as Hess. Sidonia would probably take perverse pleasure in whipping the Copper one into copper-top battery.

The two Humans were nothing to sneeze at. One was a bit physically older, but probably a couple centuries of actual age on her mind. If Toni had to guess on her, she figured likely somewhere on the borderline between Demigoddess and Lesser Goddess power, even if she would never try for such a title. The other human was physically small in every measurement, but very lean and looked to have some decent muscle on her. Toni could also sense some magic talent on her and probably a hint of some psionics. How well that translated into her duties to come remained to be seen.

Toni knew the Sylph from odds-and-ends encounters on the 523 Train. Rasine T., an older lady, utterly untrained in the use of firearms, in excellent shape if physically weak, and possessed of a very peculiar set of magic skills. Rasine had accurate knowledge of time wizardry to a sharp degree, and also had some summoning skills, but no other known spellcraft training. She would have a lot to learn under Sidonia and Hess.

Likewise, Toni also knew the Elven lady very well. Crystal X., an accomplished effect wizardry Mage, decent spellcraft power, with a lesser Magi instruction in firearms handling to go along. Physically fit, some decent strength, and could take a beating with the best of the best. She was also, very oddly for an Elven lady, a techno fiend probably to a degree above Hess's addiction to technology, and she was a most unabashed pervert, willing to sleep for a long time with multiple guys at once. Toni didn't play by that ethos, but she wasn't going to hold it against Crystal, either.

Counting Sidonia into the group, there were now four Nymphs in the room, each distinguishable by their deep-sea-blue hair, and Toni had to admit she did not know them to any significant degree. All three of the newcomers fell below Toni's size, and their physical standard varied between the three, but none of them looked far enough down the drain to beat Hess in being out of shape. That was a good thing, in Toni's estimate, because Sidonia would need a helluva lot of help whipping the Big Guy into shape. On the plus side, at least one of the Nymphs had enough magic power to rival the Greater Gods of yore, she was that far up the magic totem pole. That kind of assbeating skill was exceedingly rare, and as it happened, very handy in a defensive role when used properly.

Appraisals took roughly five seconds for Toni, after which she nodded several times in contemplation. "I won't start this off by bullshitting you. This is going to be a long, messy, frustrating position for all of us. More to the point, this job is about more than just Sigma One. If we lose any of the leadership, things will get painful fast for all of us. Follow?"

"Readily," Crystal answered with confidence.

"That said, after three days on the job, I can tell you that it will be a pleasure to work with the command team. They are not tyros, and they are not what you would commonly expect a military dictator or somesuch to be. All four are very reasonable, very hard-working, and very good listeners. Hess is also some kind of a natural trainer; hang around him long enough, he will start teaching you some pretty wild and unexpected things. This will definitely be a learning experience for everyone involved. Any questions?"

"I take it this will also be a personal experience as well?" the Black Dragon asked.

"How do you figure that in?" Toni asked, even if she knew and expected the answer.

"You said you weren't going to be bullshitting here, so it is time to be blunt. This is as much about making sure he stays sated as it is about making sure he stays alive. I could probably guess you're angling for that line, but we can't ask that entirely of you. We're all in this."

"Somebody knows their Machiavelli," Sidonia said with a bit of a savage smile.

"I do what I have to, when I need to make sure I get to see my next century," the Black Dragon said somewhat archly.

"Right idea, wrong reason," Toni said. "Your name?"

"Moira," the Black Dragon answered.

"All right, Moira, in the interest of being up-front with you all, yes, I was expecting some of that. It's not as critical as you might think, though, and it's not for seductive purpose. We don't need to seduce the boss, or anyone else on the command staff for that matter."

"How so? They'll side with the humans — " the Copper Dragon said, but was cut short by a look from Toni. "What? You think he won't?"

"I've been inside his mind while he was asleep," Toni admitted. "He has no loyalty to Humankind in the great human-nonhuman debate. He's pretty well convinced that it is all racist bullshit, and he expects he will have to defend nonhumans from genocide at some near point in the future. First lesson for the Secret Service: your protectees are American Militiamen. These guys do not think like anyone else you have ever dealt with, except maybe an Executor."

"So, if that's the case, why should we have to worry about sleeping with them?" one of the Nymphs asked.

"Two of them you won't have to. Clarence and Victoria are married; they'll keep each other happy, our concern is keeping them alive. Clint and Erich are the two we may have to focus on, but not for saving our hides as a purpose. We keep them happy, we keep them alive, we keep ourselves a job and we make sure we have reasonable guys at the helm writing reasonable national policies. Follow?"

The Copper Dragon sighed. "It is good to know we are off the hook, but staying that way will be difficult," she said. "Still, I'm not in this just to save my hide. I'm in it for some fun, and to see how big we can get the Protectorate. Moira is the Machiavellian one in the crew."

"Oh, we'll be pushing things long and hard," Sidonia said. "Who knows? We keep them at the helm long enough, you diddle around at the right times, your kids may be living under a proper society," she fronted.

"That could be a good thing," Moira said, suddenly changed of her mood.

"Lesson two of the Secret Service: what we do, on duty or off duty, we do not discuss with anyone outside the protectees and the Secret Service. Keep one thing in mind going forward: nobody knows what we do. Stealth is essential to keeping the command level safe. Stealth is essential to keeping our honor intact. Stealth, skill, honor, devotion, diversity will be our driving motivations in this unit. Any objections to that list?"

None of the ladies said a word against the principles.

"Your personal involvement with the Boss is optional, same with Clint. That said, if you do go there, take it slow. Americans don't jump into relationships with any major speed," Toni advised the group.

"Roger that," one of the human ladies said.

"We will do this on rotating stations, two persons guard detail per Sigma Callsign, starting tomorrow. The three that are not on callsign guard will do either a stand-down day off, or will do night-shift patrol on the 4th floor. Now that we have that squared away, time to gear up and get ready for your operations."

"Gear up?" Moira asked.

"Oh yes, gear up. These Plate Carriers are not a joke. Lesson three of the Secret Service: we are, and forever shall be, professional gear whores. That, and a few of you are very improperly dressed for guard detail, such as the two Gem Bikinis and one Seashell Bikini. Definitely not going to fly for guard detail, no matter how liberating it feels."

-x-x-x-

(21 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1330 Hours Local time)  
>(Hess' Quarters, Administration Building fourth floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 4 of campaign)

"Okay, I have settled on the Apache IIM R3 as our primary heavy attack Helo. Comes out to twelve tons stores on the craft plus the weapons turret. Not a customer I would want to dance with," Hess said.

"No shit, boss," Clint said. "Okay, that is our aerial fang for now. We need a medium-purpose helo, a heavy-lift helo, and maybe something light for recon purposes?"

"If we need to do recon, for now we'll do it with the medium-purpose craft. We need to make sure we get something extensible, kinda like the Soviet Mi-24, maybe? Usable for transport and for gunship duty."

"Some days, you think more like a Russkie than I do," Clint said with a smile. "And I spend too much time in that mindset entirely."

"If the Russians had not gone spiky in the 1920s, and completely skull-fucked communist in the late 20s or 30s, it might not have been a bad business for them."

"Whoa, scroll back up on that list, Virtue," Clint said. "That's different. Show the entry for the Chinook II-F, please."

"Familiar name," Hess said. "Whoa, definitely a looker," Hess said after he saw the base stats in question.

"Jesus, it's like someone took a 47-D, fattened it up a bit, slapped on a fusion-electric drive system, and said 'fly free and wide'. Price tag is fucking awesome, too, at 876,000 C-bills per craft. That's what, 2.6 million per machine in American dollars?"

"Closer to 2.7 than 2.6, but it beats the pants off the Army acquisition cost of 35 million a bird in 2013," Hess said. "59 for sale."

"Vandren VTOL services? Virtue, what do you have on that outfit?" Clint asked, then took a bite out of his chicken parmesan. The galley had been kind enough to package two meals and bring them up for Hess and Clint, which bypassed the need for the MREs that were sitting at the far end of the table.

"Standby, inquiring now," Virtue answered.

"Check it, they have another offering," Hess said, waving a laser at another entry on the list. "There's our boy. Roadrunner Medium-duty helo, heavy lift in the Chinook, I think we have a winner here."

Clint read through the new specs quickly. "That's a step up from the Blackhawk, definitely. Five tons internal cargo cap, 7.5 tons max external cargo, for a combined total of 12.5 tons lift cap per bird."

"Top speed on max internal load of 162 kilos per hour, meaning this thing can book it a bit. Fusion engine with internal reservoir for 30 hours flight. Damn thing could fly from Lexington to Los Angeles to Seattle and still have fuel in the tank," Hess calculated the distance numbers into real-world distances in his mind.

"And it's still a fuck-ton cheaper than a Blackhawk," Clint said. "421K C-bills per craft, or 1.26 million dollars. Almost makes flying affordable."

"Shit, son, you put helos like that in the sky, you'd wipe out the existing commercial helicopter business model overnight. Think about it: you fill the tank on this thing with dirty fuel, you know, tap water or distilled water, you get thirty hours run time. You put proper fusion engine fuel in it, like a Fusion Engine Polymer, you fill the tank on Sunday and fly it all week before the FAA says you're on mandated crew rest," Hess said. "And a tank of FEP for this thing would cost you a hundred bucks. To even start up the engine on a Bell Jet-Ranger helo will cost you more than that."

"Teehee," Clint giggled like a schoolgirl, wondering internally what it would take him to get a pilot certification for helos.

"Data has been returned on Vandren VTOL Services," Virtue reported.

"Listening," Hess said.

"Vandren is a startup that tried busting into a market that didn't exist. Soliciting for low-end noncombat helo craft, Vandren built 200 units of the Roadrunner and 65 units of the Chinook II-F, but only sold 84 and 6 respectively. They have an inventory nobody wants, a manufacturing base that sits idle, and the company subsists on life support at this time. Their only notable business is providing for-contract MRO (2) services for Boeing-Federated products, including being one of four MRO companies frame-rated for the Apache IIM series of attack helicopters."

"Perfect," Hess said with a savage smile.

"Oh shit, now what?" Clint asked in dread. When Erich took on such a demeanor, Clint worried; it usually presaged some manner of nefarious strategic maneuvering from the Boss.

"We have a winner the whole way around. They build what we need for lift cap, they fix our attack birds, they fix our lift birds, I believe we have the whole shooting match in one package right there. Virtue, please place a Micro Gate Laser call to Vandren, I believe it is time to make them a very good business offer."

"Stand by, initiating call now." The process took ten seconds. "Call has been accepted with all charges on our side. Connecting systems in five seconds."

The screen popped live at the appointed second. The view was a thoroughly unimpressive small office area, a lady with not much in the way of morale in her demeanor, and a window that overlooked a hangar space behind her shoulder that was presently empty.

"Thank you for calling Vandren MRO and Manufacturing, how may I route your call?"

"Your chief executive if he is available, or chief of operations if otherwise," Erich said calmly.

"May I inform him who is calling?" the secretary requested.

"Erich Hess. My title is Sigma One; I am the head of state of the Multimage Protectorate of Sigma," Hess declared himself.

"Oh, understood," the admin assistant said with some shock. "Please hold," she switched the feed over to a hold screen, complete with elevator muzak and some orthographic illustrations of the Roadrunner Multipurpose VTOL.

"Sounds more powerful in voice than it does in reality, amigo," Clint said with a giggle.

"We do what we can, we make it sound sharper when we cannot," Hess said with gravity.

The screen popped into an office view that was possibly more cluttered and dingy than the initial view of the secretary's post. "Good morning, mister Hess. Vincent Vandren, CEO and COO of Vandren MRO. How may I help you?"

"Well, sir, to be blunt and to the point, I have need of lift capacity, and I have need of MRO and line service for the AH-364A aircraft I just purchased from Boeing-Federated, and I will undoubtedly need service on the lift capacity I shall be purchasing. Vandren, oddly enough, provides all of the above, and provides all the above without making it cost-prohibitive, unlike the offerings from Boeing-Federated."

Vince Vandren almost gagged at Hess' intention. "You're referring to the Roadrunner and Chinook II-F? If I may ask, what is drawing your attention to those platforms?"

"I need no-bullshit lift capacity. I don't need a light attack chopper masquerading as a cargo aircraft, such as the Kiowa-C offered by Boeing. The Roadrunner Multipurpose VTOL does the same thing Boeing-Federated's Light Horse chopper does, flies faster and costs roughly 35 percent less. And, despite industry bleatings about lack of arms and armor, your Chinook II-F is the only current-production offering in the heavy lift capacity. Fifteen tons internal lift is something very hard to argue with, if one is not looking for One Chopper To Rule Them All."

"Okay, that's not what I was expecting to hear at all," Vince said. "If you'll excuse the blunt return, you are something entirely different from what I expected. No-bullshit lift capacity, mobility over firepower, that's not industry trend. Since you're not playing by the industry scoreboard, you're thinking something entirely different. I'm listening."

"How much do you know about a Star League world, Terra 232?" Clint asked.

"Not much, it was briefly famous in the news for going to Hell in a hurry after the Star League bailed out. Is there more to the story then made the 1900 hours news cycle?"

"Hell yes there is more. It's not public widespread yet, but the Star League no longer has dominion over this planet. The Multimage Protectorate of Sigma has taken over, and we have long-range plans. Several long-range noisemakers that require mobility, lift capacity, and reliability to a degree that would cause Boeing-Federated's engineers to soil their tighty-whities. And we're on a budget, unlike Boeing's usual clientele."

Vince stared at the screen in front of him for several seconds, then pursed his lips for several more seconds, then blew something akin to a raspberry. "Okay then," he gaped after the thought sunk in. "You're a Protectorate that is trying to expand, you need raw lift, not combat lift, and you need maintenance for both that raw lift and for some attack birds?"

"Affirm to all of the above," Hess acknowledged the corporate officer's readback as completely accurate.

Vince grimaced and nodded several times in contemplation. "See, normally, this is the point where someone pinches me and wakes me out of the dream, but below the desk edge I'm digging a letter opener into my left leg and I'm not waking up. If you'll excuse my cynicism, sir, I've been sitting on the aircraft inventory you're looking at for about a decade, with four airframes sold total in the past eighteen months. I was beginning to think I would have to write my inventory into my will, so my daughter could finish selling them off after I'm dead and buried."

"Oh, I think you misunderstand, Director Vandren. I am not simply doing purchase, though that is both the starting transaction and bona-fide for the second phase. When I say I need lift and mobility, I'm not just talking for a hundred-sixty helos. I need LIFT, as in, five digits worth of airframes at final expectation, not counting attrition or combat losses. I need a group that can both provide the airframes and can maintain them through the coming shitstorms that we will be operating in. In short, I need the total package, and I need someone with the hardness to deliver, first time, every time. Now, did I dial the right number, or do I need to keep looking?"

"Okay, then, that gauntlet just made a loud sound when it hit the table. Lay it out for me, sir, what are you asking, and what are you offering?" Vincent Vandren asked.

"I will start by completely purchasing out all assets for Vandren. Your last finance sheet shows inventory and assets totalling 125 million, with roughly 100 million of that wrapped up in the leftover unsold airframes. For the Protectorate, that's actually a fairly small purchase given the expect on return. That takes you completely out from under your liabilities, which will make phase two a lot easier a call to make."

"Listening," Vincent said.

"Phase two, I have your entire company moved from your present location to the Aerospace Factory Block in Base Boarhound on Terra 232. From there, you have manufacturing capability, MRO service capability, and you're behind a solid spread of static defenses and militia forces for security purposes."

"Okay, whoa, that's a loud stick to wave, sir. How am I going to do MRO for other groups from a cut-off world?" Vince asked.

"One moment." Hess looked up to the speaker above his head. "Virtue, traceroute this transmission. Is any part of it susceptible to intercept by Star League parties, or anyone connected to said bastards?"

"Negative, the link is secured and does not pass through any Star League territories or equipment," Virtue answered.

Hess looked back down to the monitor on the south wall. "Okay, here's the deal. I am presently working on a transportation solution that takes conventional Dropship travel out of the equation for the most part. It is the cornerstone to multiple of my plans, and is derived from the technologies in use on the Jumper Trains. If you sign into the plan, you will have access to this transport system at cost, and you can use the transport system to both take possession of craft you need to work on, and deliver them back to the clients."

Again, Hess' declaration caused Vincent to gag. "You're using the Jumper Train engines for static material or personnel movement? Okay, I revise my last. You are not something entirely different, you are something entirely wrong, a guy willing to break all the rules and do it with a smile. I hope you know what you are getting into."

"I will not discuss particulars due to matters of classification, but I can tell you I have high-level protection from the Magi and the Executors for these matters. If you sign into the arrangement, I will make the case that your operations are under that protection as a critical contractor to existing forces under the Sigma banner," Erich explained.

"Okay, that's what I needed to hear to make this feasible. I'm going to assemble my staff and brief them on your offer. If they say 'go', we'll begin the processes before the end of day today. Thank you for the offer, Sigma One. I will call you back within the hour."

The monitor cut off with the termination of the link. "What do you think?"

"Empty hangar behind the secretary. He's not getting much in the way of MRO work, either," Hess answered the question from Clint.

"So, we just gave a dying business a chance to revive itself as a MRO for Sigma? Shit, boss, you are one strategically hard mo-fo," Clint said.

"It's what I do," Hess said with a smile.

The speaker above the table popped. "Incoming collect call, Vandren MRO," Virtue declared.

"That was, what, thirty seconds?" Hess asked, to which Clint nodded. "Accept charges and connect," Erich ordered.

The view this time was a little bit better, but still quite a bit dingy. The main change, though, was a table with six filled chairs: the CEO, the secretary, and four mechanics in dingy jumpsuits. "Sigma One, CEO Vandren. We have a couple questions before we accept or quash your offer. First, are we allowed to grow our outside business, or are we locked into service for Sigma?"

"I was expecting you to exploit the available facilities and staff to draw in outside contracts," Hess said. "I held no expectation of single-contract exclusivity, and I welcome you doing external business, helps grow your capabilities that Sigma will have to call on eventually."

"Thank you. Misty?" the CEO deferred to the mechanic to his right.

"Sigma One, Misty Smith. I'm rated for Armor, Mechanical, Avionics, and Weapons. Do you have facilities for further education?" she asked.

"Sigma itself does not, though I am considering a Networked Learning System for the facility. It would be dead simple to have any of the major Universities provide training by HPG, if I get the necessary facilities set up," Hess answered.

"I'm game. Henry?" she looked across the table to one of the other mechanics.

"Henry Jotone, sir. I'm going to drop in as a Mechanic, but I did combat vehicle for the Magi for ten years. You have any objection to re-hiring a veteran?"

"If you want to sign up, more power to you," Clint took that answer. "Just be warned, we're not a defensive group. We're going looking for shit, and when we can't find any, we stir up some shit from the pot as needed. Hope you're willing to get messy."

"Hell yes, I'm in. Alice?" the mechanic deferred to the secretary sitting next to him.

"I have three daughters, ages 3, 4, and 6. Daycare available?" she asked.

"Okay, that could be a complication," Hess said. "I don't have anything official set up for daycare, but I also have a feeling it will be needed soon."

"I have a suggestion," Virtue said. "Several of the Bravo Mafia who have handed in their commissions may have a solution to the child care and education issues. They are working on reactivating one of the on-base schools for that purpose."

"There you go," Hess said.

"Okay, I can do it," Alice said.

"Plan is a go, Sigma One," Vincent Vandren said. "As soon as you're ready to make the purchase, let's begin."

"Virtue, draw up the documentation. Keep in mind, we are still setting up the transport system, so it will be several days for you to prepare for transport. We will be in touch. As soon as you sign off on the documents you will be receiving shortly, we will begin movement. Welcome to the Protectorate of Sigma."

-x-x-x-

(21 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1515 Hours Local time)  
>(Barracks Building FD-02, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 4 of campaign)

"Building FD2, Delta Mafia, Similar thinkers, and some refugees from the train," Toni explained. "You sure this is where we'll find them?"

"Aye, according to Virtue, this is where the two pilot candidates bunk in," Hess said. "You want to hold out here, your call. Sounds like you don't trust the denizens."

"I don't. Careful, big guy," Toni said with some clear fear to voice.

"Yeah, looks legit," Hess said, of which he had let her in on the reasoning behind that phrase and how the Claiborne County Militia used it to mean the exact opposite.

The one guy at the door braced to attention as Hess approached, which he didn't really expect but took it in stride. "As you were, sentry," Erich said as he pushed into the barracks common room.

Inside the building, the environment reminded him not so much of barracks as it did a dive or grungy frathouse. The occupants could have resided in either, so far as Sigma One could tell.

Before Erich opened his mouth to blow a significant whistle and get their attention, someone beat him to it. "SIGMA ONE ON DECK!" A lady shouted after she realized who was standing in the doorway.

The shout brought everyone to their feet, though not into lines or columns as of yet. Hess figured it was a start, but left some bit to be desired. And, as these things happened, it also brought focus to something that Erich was thoroughly expecting, but not welcoming at this stage of the Protectorate forming up.

"Well well, the big guy himself. Come to rally the troops for some quest, have we?" a Delta Mafiosi said as he slow-paced into the center aisle between bunk-bed sets. On the far side from Hess, the guy twirled an aluminum baseball bat, which Hess remembered was a favored weapon of actual Mafiosi in the 20s and 30s for close-in work.

"Yeah, looking for anyone flight-certified, Helo, Air, Aerospace, we're forming up an air mobility and air combat command. Anyone that has a type rating, step outside and speak to Toni," Hess said.

"Whoohoo! Airborne again!" A lady shouted as she headed for the door with another person. She was part of a knot of Phoenixes hovering in one area of the barracks, not really isolated from the others, but not intermingling, either. The other departure was Elven, a guy older than Hess by a degree.

"Huh, that's an interesting one, air mobility. Oh, wait, that's obvious! You need a helo lift to get your fat arse up to the apartments on the fourth floor. Should have realized that sooner."

Hess simply chuckled at the lame attempt at an insult. "Anyone else in here with flight quals?" He asked the remainder of the barracks. "And I know you did flight-capable MS in your military career, Timothy, but right now we're not deploying standing armor. Soon enough, though."

"Got it, sir," Timothy said. "Whenever you need it, I'm ready."

"You'll get a call when I start deploying Mobile Suits. Until then, have a good day, Gentlemen and Ladies."

Hess turned and took a pace toward the door before an impact sound of an aluminum baseball bat echoed against the metal roof pillar in the middle of the barracks room. "Wow, not only is he terminally fat, he's gutless. Don't you know when someone's calling you to battle, Fatso One?"

"You haven't said anything today that I haven't heard in triplicate before today, fuckwagon," Hess answered. "If you want to get my attention, you need some better material. And a real weapon. Now, have a good day."

"You watch your fat ass, boy. One of these days, I will vacate you from your ill-gotten position."

"One advisory, mister fuckwagon. When you get ready to shoot me in the back, you make damn sure you don't miss," Hess cautioned him.

"Or what? You'll cry about it?" the antagonist asked.

"If you miss, I will not." Hess said nothing more, he simply pushed through the barracks doors and out to the staging area. "And one from the Bravos," Hess said after he stopped in front of the group.

"Anne F., my liege. Rated for atmospheric flight, any craft weight. Find me some wings and I'll take you wherever you want to go," the Bravo Mafiosi declared herself.

"Ainsley M., Aerial Phoenix, rated for commercial wide-bodies and narrow-bodies up to 50 tons," the blue-haired lady in the group listed her position.

"Nice," Hess said. "Willing to up your game, Ainsley? I need both light attack pilots and heavy transport. Light attack for clearing threat parties, heavy air transport for, say, bringing a strike team into a remote airfield with vehicles."

Ainsley smiled. "As long as the concrete is long enough, I'll take a team anywhere you want it."

"And the odd man out?" Hess asked of the third, who both looked and sounded like an American.

"Beck, sir. Flew the UH-1W Whiskey-Cobra in Gulf One, retired in '98. I don't know jack about Star Empire airframes or weapon systems, but for what you're planning, I'm willing to learn."

Hess smiled. "Damn good to have a Marine Aviator along for the ride. I can tell you right now, you're in for an upgrade and, pardon the expression, a crash-course in Star Empire attack helos. Done any study on them so far?"

"Some. Wouldn't mind having my hands on one of those new Apache IIM R3 units, sir. Six tons external stores, twin lasers in the chin turret, and the armor to take hits from tanks without flinching? That's an aviator's wet dream." He jolted a bit when Hess passed him a tablet as they walked. "What's this?"

"Full manufacturer primer for you on the 364A. I just bought four of them from Boeing-Federated. As soon as you find someone you're willing to train as a gunner, give me a shout and I'll break one out of ScrapNet for you."

"That easy, sir?" Beck asked.

"Depends on what you define as 'easy', amigo. Err, if I may ask, what was your rank prior to retirement?" Hess countered his question, given he felt weird about not knowing his rank.

"Retired as a Major," Beck answered as they approached the main thoroughfare to the Admin building.

"Squadron command?" Hess asked, given the rank Major was on the low end for a Squadron command.

"No, sir, just a Flight command, six helos. Four Whiskey-Cobras and two Seahawks with assault infantry," the Major answered.

"Well, if you are willing, once I have a full Helo team going, I may need experienced personnel in command positions. This job is entirely volunteer, no obligation. If you want a ticket home, I can get it. If you want to hang around, clean house on this planet, or make a buck flying merc detail, also welcome. You have family you want to bring in from your homeworld, that can be arranged. Same goes for you two ladies," Hess indicated Anne and Ainsley.

"Hell with that, sir," Ainsley said with a smile. "I'm in it for the green. Put me where I can make buck, and I'll make everyone rich."

"I'm in it to fly, my liege," Anne said. "The more craft I can learn on, the better."

"Might bring my family in, but it's not critical right now. They're safe where they are, once we secure the world, I'll bring my wife and kids here to see if they would like it," Beck said. "If not, we can discuss options at a later time."

"Welcome to Sigma, ladies and gentleman," Hess said with a smile.

-x-x-x-

(21 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1800 Hours Local time)  
>(Mess Hall North, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 4 of campaign)

"Move it up, move it up! This turkey roast ain't got all day!" Chef Edea half-shouted.

"Oscar Mike!" Maia C. half-shouted as she hot-footed the 32-pound turkey over to the butcher table for Chef Wheeler to carve fresh for the diners.

Wheeler, Edea, and Napea were three self-taught cooks from the Train that had joined Hess on the way out of the Train. Two more, Dante and Senta, had joined Hess' 'trailers' early on and taken up staff positions in the Administration Building galley. Of the various refugees, Maia and Alcina, two wildly different ladies, had decided to try their hand at cooking under the self-taught Mess Staff. Between the five of them, they were easily able to keep up with demand for the refugees and the budding Sigma staff.

"Need potatoes! What's the status?" Napea asked.

"Ready for mashing now," Edea answered calmly. "You understand the process, Alcina?"

"I think. Drain potatoes, transfer to industrial mixer, beat slow, add sour cream, butter, and small amount of salt, beat medium until thoroughly mixed. Did I get it right?" she asked.

"Correct, now make it happen," Edea said.

"Man oh man, this is a different job from train detail," Napea said as she selected a large (10-kilogram) shipping unit of Romaine Lettuce for the salad bar. The Food Storage Unit locked up, processed the transfer from the Star League Pocket Storage, then unlocked once the lettuce had arrived.

"We're making it a reality, and we're feeding the troops. That's what counts," Edea said. "How's Wheeler holding up?"

"He's doing good, but says he might need another beef roast for carving," Napea said.

"Beef Roast? On it," Maia said. She entered the necessary information into the Food Storage Unit, waited the customary ten seconds, and extracted the 10-kilo beef roast for cooking. "This will take a while."

"Already have one in the oven," Napea said. "I figured the beef would go fast."

"Potatoes are done," Alcina said. She had cleared the mixing bowl, dispensed one tray worth and set aside, and the other two 15-kilo trays she wrapped for hot-storage. Mashed Potatoes were quickly turning out to be a favorite for the dining bar, so…

"What's your story, Alcina? You don't strike me as the type of person foolhardy enough to get on the train willingly," Chef Edea asked.

"Hell, Sigma One didn't strike me as foolhardy at all, and he still got on," Napea pointed out fairly while she adjusted her minimizer bra for better placement.

"American Militiaman, girl," Edea reminded the decade-younger Napea. "The big guy thinks wildly different."

"Different? Oh hell no, he thinks on a whole 'nother level," Alcina said. "And after seeing him in action, man am I ashamed of what I used to be."

"Well, we're listening," Napea said as she cleaned cucumbers for chopping for the salad bar.

Alcina slipped the second tray of mashed potatoes into the hot-store racks and closed the warming box up. "Got thirty kilos of mashed potatoes ready for the dinner rush. What's next, chief?"

"Cutting board and carrots," Napea waved to the cutting board next to herself. "You were saying?"

"I was a British subject from the 1980s," Alcina said. "What I meant about being ashamed of my past, well, I was part of the top percentile in my classes, headed for Oxford after high school, and I spent my free time harassing the school's nerds. Myself and a couple of the other upperclassmen, we were right bitches to the genius students, but there was one I particularly enjoyed stringing along. In hindsight, the guy I was tormenting reminds me so much of a younger Hess, it frightens me to think I was playing with dynamite all that time. If Clarence was half as capable as Hess is, that's frightening and definitely shameful. Probably wrecked the guy's self-esteem permanently, or gambled on becoming an unsolved murder."

"Live and learn, sounds like," Napea said. "At least you admit it. I've known ladies that never outgrew that adolescent tormentor stage, and they paid dearly for it when they tried running the gauntlet through an unforgiving society," the Nymph Cook said. "So, what brought you to the train?"

"My parents and I were on a highway north of Leeds when the Train dropped in roughly fifty meters in front of the car. I had enough time to shout 'shit' before our car plowed into the side of the engine. I blacked out on the prang, and when I woke up I was in a seat car getting scrogged in the bum by a slaver," she said. "I spent four weeks in captivity, until I was able to distract the slaver and escape, then I joined up with a Young Mafia unit and helped them along for protection. Ten months later, Hess offers me a way out."

"Sorry, shouldn't have pressed," Napea said.

"Don't be, I'm not," Alcina said. "This year on the Train has been a monumental wake-up call for me. I was never in danger from the Troubles with the IRA or anything like that, had a good education, good future prospects, and was a ruddy bitch about it. It took me a week to get over the shock of being enslaved, and three weeks to completely understand what was going on, but it's changed my life for the better I think. It's not every day you go from being top of the class to being bottom of the slave-chain, and seeing the real world through naïve eyes either breaks a woman, or it corrects the problem. And now I'm out to correct the problem, or at least feed the troops that will correct the problem," Alcina said.

Edea scraped off the chopped carrots from Alcina's cutting board. "You said woman deliberately, emphatically," Edea prompted her. "Why?"

"The slavers never hit me at the right time, and after I escaped I was a bit of a touch-me-not, but I met a nice guy in one of the Delta groups, Telly was his name, and he and I shacked up for a few nights after he broke through my resistance. Very nice guy, but quiet. I can tell I'm pregnant, probably due here in about six months or so," Alcina said as she scraped the last of the carrot bits onto the serving platter. "I wonder if he made it off the train."

"What are you going to do about your child?" Edea asked. "Oh, next roast is ready, Maia, you're on again."

"Got it," Maia answered with a smile. "Congratulations, Alcina!"

"I'll do what my parents needed to do, but didn't. The child growing inside of me will not grow up to be an asshole or bitch. I'm going to make sure he or she grows up to pull their own weight and do right unto the world, because this world needs it," Alcina said. "And in the mean time, I am going for the top in the Sigma Support Staff, I want to make sure the troops are getting the best food I can deliver to keep them fueled and kicking arses."

"If Telly pulled through, you need to find him, see if he's willing to make it permanent, and get yourself a BEQ house. Very Nice guys are hard to come by," Edea said. "And I agree, congratulations, and may we both have many more," the chef said.

Alcina tipped her glasses to the elder chef. "You as well?"

"In about seven months would be my guess," Edea said. "Not a clue who with, I've been around the block a few times, but this is my first. And Napea is farther along, about what? Four months from now?" the elder chef prompted the much-younger Nymph.

"Four months, five months, somewhere in there," Napea said. "I don't think Sigma One realizes it yet, but just in this group of refugees, I'm guessing he's got somewhere north of thirty ladies in varying stages of childbearing. Hope he has a plan for that."

"Remember, Sigma One thinks on a different level," Alcina said with a raised knife to signal the point. "I'll bet he not only has a plan, but has assets working toward it as we speak."

-x-x-x-

(21 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 1815 Hours Local time)  
>(Mess Hall North, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 4 of campaign)

"Jeff Evans! Over here, man!" Engineer Luna Fallsorth waved him toward a table in the back of the cafeteria area.

Jeff and Cynthia diverted from their intended table to join Luna, Mosley Goodwin and his wife, Victoria Williams (without her husband — Jeff knew he was conducting a business transaction of some kind), and a lady that neither Jeff nor Cynthia recognized.

"How much do you have trenched so far?" Mosley asked after the pair took their seats.

"One full pass, part of a second," Jeff answered. "Should have the rest done by end of day tomorrow."

"Excellent. We have three of the engines pulled in cradles, two more to go for the first train, and we can start installing the system sometime tomorrow. We can power them initially off the 400-rated Engines that were in the train frame, but if you really want to close escrow on this plan, that power feed from the base reactors is a requirement."

"Oh yeah, we definitely need the juice for the engines, if only as a safety precaution," Jeff agreed. "It's why I'm making sure this cable run is done right. Anyway, how many engines are we going to put in place?"

"Hess hasn't said how many. The internal systems can handle 128 total daisy-chained, but there's nothing stopping us from giving them an upgrade," Mosley said. "Wouldn't surprise me if the big guy rode that limit hard — not like we're going to be hurting for the engines by the time this is done."

"What is the length of the largest train?" Cynthia asked after a moment of silence at the table.

"I want to say 3000 cars? Similar?" Engineer Goodwin said. "Would be 75 engines in a train of that size."

"At that size, the train would have the population of a small city," Luna half-whined. "I hope he has a solid plan for refugee relocation, or two good-size trains would overcrowd this base."

"Outside this base is a good-sized city," Jeff pointed out fairly. "If we can get some real organization into the mafiosi, get them to give up their protectionist ties for the solid security of the Protectorate, we might have the beginnings of a security force."

"They will need a good show of force," the hitherto-unidentified lady said. "Oh, my apologies! Have not introduced myself. Karin, I have been working with Luna to set up the Train Beacon. We will have the first rail powered and ready by tomorrow evening."

"Still, this isn't what I convened this dinner party for," Mosley said, then tapped his glass lightly with a fork to create a glass bell sound. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a movement we need to begin."

"Okay, I'll nibble. What's the game plan?" Luna asked.

"Order in the court of engineer's judgment," Mosley said while tapping the glass a couple more times. "Let me explain the situation before we get to the gameplan, Engineer Falsorth."

"Well get on with it!" Luna said in some exasperation.

"Okay, time for some Gods' honest truth. The Boss has the right idea, but shit equipment for it. Granted, I will admit there is some brilliance to dish out in his extant purchases, but with all things Military, there are specific places for specific systems and they don't always cross-craft properly."

"Okay, you're waving a loud stick there, comrade Goodwin," Luna said in a horribly-inaccurate faked Russian accent.

"Perfect example: the Apache IIM R3. As a tankbuster, holy fuck. Thing can truck in enough missiles to swiss cheese a battalion of Successor State armor, or a regiment of pre-spaceflight tanks. Has the armor to take a hellish beating, too, especially when compared to most other VTOL gunships. Downside? Mission flexibility is hampered by its limited engineering focus, and the damn thing costs as much as a 40-ton bare-bones battlemech. See where this is going?"

"The on-the-market gear limitations are going to screw us in the long run?" Karin O. asked.

"They'll get us killed. Too much cost, not enough return on that cost. Oh, sure, we'll need some of those systems for fighting Successor State and Star Empire Contracts, and we'll need some of the really good shit for defense here on the homeworld, but for what the Merc Contracts intend, this is as much a numbers game as it is quality. He needs better gear, systems, weapons designed for the main purpose of supporting the Infantry and killing enemy infantry, and he needs them cheap and fast."

"How do we get purpose-built gear like that without getting butt-scrogged by engineering costs?" Luna asked.

"All engineers at the table, please hold your hands up," Mosley said. Luna and Mosley did so, and much to the surprise of everyone else at the table, so did Jeff Evans. "You as well?"

"Partially, I was studying for an Engineering degree, heavy on the materials sciences side, before I jumped on the train to try to rescue Cynthia," Evans answered. Cynthia simply blushed.

"Well, and now in deference to Luna's impatience, here is my plan. I want to bring the Rail Beacon Engineers, Jump Engine Technicians, and a couple others under one umbrella. I want to set up an outfit where we can pool resources and engineer ourselves some good, hard gear, improve bases, set up Jump Engine Networks, Rail Beacon Networks, the whole nine yards. Call it, Sigma Engineering Services, and we could even go out of our way to do engineering for Mercenary Contract work.

"Got another one for your Special Engineering Services," Executor Nereus said as he took an open seat next to Karin. "I know you were talking about blacksmithing work, Karin, so my idea is on that."

"Do tell, Executor," the apprentice Technician asked.

"Not strictly related to the Engineering project, we need to get a special skillset in action. Relic Enchantment is what it is called, and I've seen a few Relics in action over the years," the High Executor said with a clear hint of irony to voice. There was no question that he was steeped in relic skillsets and lore, it was a literal job requirement for Executors. "You want to change the name of the game in a hurry, put some troops on the ground with enchanted armor and weapons — you'll see the game change fast and loud when a crew of Relic Armored Infantry hammer into an enemy battle line."

Karin gasped with her hand over her mouth. "The Secret Service!"

"Aye," Nereus answered. "You forge their swords, their melee weapons, others enchant those devices, you have a near-impenetrable guard force to cover the boss."

"Sigma Specialist Services Group," Cynthia pointed out a possible name for it.

The table was silent for ten seconds. "Specialist Services Group? I like the ring of that one. You have a trade, missy?"

Cynthia shook her head. "Was a singer and a traditional dancer, an artist, nothing technical," Cynthia answered meekly.

"If you're willing to learn, the other cadet on Luna's team is a southeast-Asian blacksmith, specializes in Naginata," Karin said. "And if you can sing, I'd love to hear it."

Without even trying, Karin had fired off an idea in the displaced Cynthia, who was beginning to despair of having no societal place outside of the arms of Jeff. It would be years before Cynthia began to move on it, but what Karin started, Cynthia would turn into a worldwide movement in decades to come.

For his part, Mosley had pegged one of the nastiest problems to face the fledgling nation, but the solution would be across the table from him, sitting to the left of Cynthia. Jeff Evans would be the first, but certainly not the last, of head Systems Engineers for Sigma, specialist engineers that designed the tools Sigma would use to dominate battlefields in centuries to come.

All in all, it was a dinner meeting that changed the fate of a nation — and thereby the fate of millions of planets to yet be ventured.

-x-x-x-

(21 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 2100 Hours Local time)  
>(METARgraphic Gun Range, Administration Building 1st Basement, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 4 of campaign)

The first part of the day for the Sigma Secret Service had been something of an engineered torture test for the volunteers. Some of them were pretty hardy, but none of them were really trained up for wearing a combat gearset for any major length of time. Some had balked at the weight of the gearset, to which Toni passed around Hess' non-armor LBE vest. Of the eleven-person team, six could not properly lift it, and Toni explained that it did not have a full water bladder or the folding-stock shotgun, which reduced some ten pounds total of the weight. Opinions changed amongst the group when they realized that Hess wore this thing routinely almost without discomfort.

Others balked at the gearset on the illusion that it would not provide decent protection.

"Virtue, please set up a human simulate at 20 meters, female form, wearing a plate carrier with Level 4 plates." The formation of the Nanoform material only took five seconds to fill out and color in properly. "Some of you have questioned the gearset for how well it protects. I had the same question for Erich this morning, and he showed me the same thing I am about to show you."

Toni stepped up to the safety line, took her M4 off safety, and brought it up to aim. One burst, two bursts, three bursts, a total of ten rounds landed on the plate carrier, though at least one round went wide of the armor plate and caused the body to start bleeding from out behind the plate. "Bleeder," Lydia pointed out.

"Round went wide," Toni said. "Weapon safed and slung. Come on," Toni waved the Secret Service detail forward to the simulate. "These SAPI armor plates are engineered to take repeated hits from common battle rifles, and also stop at least one good hit from a thirty-caliber armor piercing round." Toni pulled one of the shoulder straps loose, then withdrew the armor plate.

"Holy shit," Moira said after she had a look at the plate's strikeface.

"Nine rounds hit the plate. None penetrated." Toni flipped it over. "You will note, two of the rounds stacked on prior holes, and they still didn't penetrate. That's the upper limit, two and done in a 3-centimeter space, but if you're taking that kind of fire, it's officially a bad day and you should have ended the battle with spellcraft already."

"So what's the point?" Asuka asked.

"This is to save our asses from a sudden ambush scenario, those of us who are not psionic and can't sense it coming. The body armor gives us survivability, we then use our arms and our spellcraft to return the favor and end the threat. Any questions on process?"

"No ma'am, crystal clear now," Leonora answered as the group walked back to the firing line.

"Now, we've gone all day wearing the basics — plate carrier, armor plates, basic mag pouch, pistol, pistol mag pouch. Not a huge amount of weight overall. You've all tried lifting the boss' gearset. If we are to follow him into battle, we all need to condition ourselves to be able to handle a proper combat load. This will not be a fast training program — we work slow, we work thorough, and all the while we learn the ins and outs of our weapon systems. Now, that said, see this M4 with suppressor? I'm now done with it. Sigma is going to standardize on a single platform, and it won't be the M4A1 or M4A4. We're looking at either the Remington ACR or the FN SCAR, and so far the boss is leaning toward the ACR."

"What about suppressors? I kinda liked not having ear protection in," Moira answered.

"Virtue, please draw a full battery of ACRs, electronic earmuffs, and two M2 cans of 5.56 ammo," (3) Toni requested. Given she was a section lead, she had the authority to make such transactions, and Hess had already informed Virtue that training munitions were not to be shorted within reason.

"Processing now," Virtue said.

"Everyone, get your tablets ready. Once we draw these arms, they are permanent issue unless we change them out," Toni said as she activated her tablet. "Virtue, once the dispenser is cleared, execute a full purchase of 40-caliber pistol ammo. Today, we start with pistol and we go with pistol until 2300 or until I am satisfied."

"Understood. I will draw an ammo can per person and an EasyLoader per person to assist with feeding the mags."

"Also, issue a General Purpose pouch for our vests to keep gear and cleaning kits in for our weapons," Toni suggested. "Time to get used to carrying it around with us all day."

"First gear issue is ready," the ScrapNet Interface unlocked audibly and the light on the interface panel went green to signify the system was ready.

"I know this has existed for decades, but it's still, well, freaky. And more so freaky that you guys do purchases off it," Sapphire said.

"You think this bends brain cells, wait until you see the heavy equipment pad down in the rail head. I watched them pull a HEMTT 2 truck and an engine cradle trailer out, and just drive with it to where they could receive an engine. Jeff Evans knows how to quickly learn new equipment."

"Better still, wait until we start using ScrapNet to induct Mobile Army units, like the AH-364A attack helos," Toni said while she was scanning and handing out ACR rifles and magazines.

"Ten mags?" Anastasia asked. "Eight in our pouch, one in the rifle, where does the last go?"

Toni set her rifle aside and held up two of the mags side by side. "These are the Xigon STANAG-P type magazines. See on the sides, one post, one latch? They're designed to mount side-by-side with a very slight offset." Toni twisted the two magazines together to where they interlocked. "Two in the gun, eight in the pouch, 300 rounds on your person."

"Damn, where did you pick up that idea?" Lydia asked.

"The Boss, actually. His AR-15 had two aluminum STANAG magazines clamped together, but he never used it more than a half magazine. His Enfield did most of the talking."

"Oh, okay," Lydia said.

"The name for that kind of conduct is 'Mall Ninja'," Sigma Two said as he creeped up behind Moira.

"Sir!" The entire group snapped to attention when they recognized who was there.

"Continue on, I'm here to watch," Clint said.

"Anyway, now that we have mags and ammo, time to load up," Toni said after she allowed the ScrapNet Interface to close up for the second ammo draw.

The training would go to the 2300 stop point for the group, with Clint officiating and assisting in bringing everyone up to par with their pistols. The ACRs would go unused, since the team was not up to Toni's pistol standards yet. Including herself, she would have to admit.

-x-x-x-

(21 March, Magi Year 14408 / Year SL 8838, 2330 Hours Local time)  
>(Hess' Quarters, Administration Building 4th Floor, Base Boarhound, Terra 232)<br>(Day 4 of campaign)

"Interesting possibility. Person touches rune, trips spell. Nice and efficient, almost like a landmine."

"In fact, some fixed locations use spellcraft runes as a magical analog to landmines," Virtue reported. "Security camera footage on monitor one."

Erich turned his chair around to watch the footage, which was shorter than he expected. On the video, a group of brigands (or soldiers?) entered a hallway that was posted with a 'no entry' sign, and partway into the hall, someone activated a spell rune on the ground that struck all five with magical fire. Two simply dropped, two ran back out of the hallway in classic 'human torch' fashion, but a third ran himself into the wall and bounced, tripped the rune a second time, and was struck by the magic flame again (lethally this time).

"Well, that was painful," Hess said. "Idiots will be idiots. Anyway, from what I have read about magic so far, anything that can be used as spellcraft can be ensconced into a rune of some kind?"

"Close to anything," Virtue answered. "There are some spells that do not work with spell runes, but those spells are the exceedingly rare exception."

"Huh," Hess groused. "We will need to consider putting in place some runes for medical purposes, and some runes for personal purposes."

"I am listening," Virtue said.

"The Trains; I want to create a Rune series that is always active, that when a person walks across the Rune, it eliminates any major diseases they have. An effective Rune that creates a Cure Disease spell field, on the way through a centralized transit point into the induction area. Maybe we could do a similar rune for medical purposes? I saw a few that looked like they were either inadvertent or direct amputees, maybe a Regeneration Rune to correct that?"

"You will need multiple Runes for that purpose alone," Toni said as she approached the table. "A Regen runic field would take time to repair, which would necessitate having multiple Runes."

"Excellent point," Hess said with a smile as Toni took seat next to him — rather close to him, at that. "Virtue, to the Undercroft Expansion Plan, please add suitable space to include several of these Runes, and room to add more as we further expand. Say, a raised titanocrete (4) platform, bed height, built into an inset cubicle so curtains can be strung across for privacy while the process works through."

"Why such an expensive construct? Wouldn't simple concrete do?" Toni asked.

"It would do, but I want this construct to be built once and last forever. Standard Portland Cement Concrete does not last forever," Erich said after he gave Toni a quick glance. He was also quick to look back to his work, lest he dwell on her dressed-down charm. "What I spend now, may cost more in the short term, but when you think decades into the future, paying for better now often times achieves better and longer results."

"Okay," Toni acknowledged the point. "Regenerative, disease cleaning, maybe one down by the Trains themselves for fast-heal of injuries? Getting shot does not require a full Regenerative spell."

"One by each Train, I would say, or more depending on the length of the Train. Maybe set them up on mobile platforms for transport around to areas that require combat personnel?" Hess opined.

"Doable," Virtue said. "Inset the healing rune into a Ferrocrete slab, move it around by heavy forklift as needed."

Hess scrolled through a couple lists on the monitors for a moment, but didn't ask any more questions. The 'why' was reasonably obvious to Toni, she was sitting next to him and he had a question that he was troubled by.

"You're holding a question back, big guy," Toni prompted him.

Hess jiggled his head back and forth, sort-of mocking his own hesitation while making light of it. "While you were cleaning up, I took the liberty of looking up the spell that is used to change the form of a Phoenix or a Dragon from avian to human forms. Not complex, really, and usable in the form of a Rune."

"So, what's the big deal?" Toni asked, unsure where Hess was leading the question.

"If I was to commission two Runes, one for the human-to-avian transformation, another for the avian-to-human transform, what would the acceptance on the ground look like?" Erich asked.

"You joking? You do a service to us Aerials like that, we love you long time!" Toni said.

"Okay, what's the big deal on that?" Erich dropped her own question back on her.

"This isn't our natural form. We are meant to fly free, but we can take Human form for a while. It's not good for us to stay in human form for lengthy periods, it causes problems, but we do it anyways. If you are going to let us free-roam in our proper forms, you'd have friends for life and the solid loyalty of any Nonhuman and Semi-Human you inducted."

Hess nodded four times in thought. "Virtue, list hangars on the base." The hangar listing appeared on Hess' tablet. "Reduce list to show only hangars with suitable wingspans for the largest Avian types." Several of the hangars disappeared, too small to service the larger Dragon types. "Do we have any hangars large enough to handle two such runes without causing problems to the Rune users?"

"Yes, these hangars are sized appropriately for large-body commercial and transport craft," six hangars flashed. "Of these, two of the hangars are large enough to house two runes, but not large enough to be a waste of space. In any case, using two runes in a hangar will cause some space to be left open."

"Display your expectation of space used versus space available, orthographic display, monitor five," Hess ordered.

The display came up on the requested monitor. "That's way too much, big guy. I mean, I'm thankful for the offer of the Rune, and the privacy a Hangar would afford the switch process, but this is a bit much. I mean, I — we — can't ask you to sacrifice two whole hangars to this effort! That's well above and beyond the call of — " Hess held up a hand in request of silence, which he had for twenty seconds. "Sir?" Toni asked.

"Virtue, replace the highlighted unused area with HEMTT trailer parking for Jump Engines, assuming nominal trailer spacing that would not result in collisions. Display remaining unused space on the outside periphery of the trailer parking."

"Parking displayed as dual-level, with a third partial level above the first two that can accommodate palletized cargo and forklifts," Virtue said.

"Son of a bitch, that is a lot of Jump Engine trailers," Toni said.

"I was considering simply turning one hangar into a multi-story parking garage for HEMTT trailers with Jump Engines, since we will undoubtedly exceed the needed jump engines for one base, one array in very short order."

"And by doing this, you create partial storage space as well as provide us Rune floorspace," Toni completed the thought. "But why two hangars?"

"One rune for human to avian, another rune for avian to human, gender-split between two facilities, four runes total. As necessary, we can add more hangars if the volume exceeds what is available for transformation." Toni opened her mouth to protest, but Hess raised his hand again. "Do not concern over the equipment, Toni. Nor should you concern about the floorspace involved, or even the illusion of propriety. I value the personnel well in excess of the value in a structure or the aircraft. For the Dragons and Phoenix, this is a job perk and a way to maintain a healthy lifestyle. For the rest of the unit, this is a promise that I do not side with the racist elements, or alternately, that I side against the racist elements. For myself, this is a statement: do it right, first time, every time."

Toni gaped at his logic. "I — I don't know what to say," she finally acknowledged.

"I think unconventionally," Hess explained. "I also expect flak for this move. Most will welcome it, or will at least be indifferent. Some will be hostile. Those who object are under no obligation to remain on the base or to serve Sigma. If they want off planet, that is on them. But, and I want this dealt with soonest, I do not want a cloud of paranoia hanging over the efforts here, with the nonhumans thinking they are fated to death at the hands of racist parties and my indifference. I refuse to be indifferent on this matter; we wrote the law structure egalitarian, so shall it be, and this is a symbol thereof."

Toni said nothing, she simply reached across her chair to hug the Boss from the side.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Chapter Afterword<strong>:

First full day as a Protectorate, and you can see that the crew is really putting the loans to use to begin the projects.

Primarily, Hess is moving full speed ahead on the Jump Engine project, mainly because roughly everything else he does is dependent on it. To get those out, he has prime movers and the base equipment itself, plus a crew that is led by a guy that used to fix them professionally. Getting them in place is the providence of other equipment that Hess ordered, but will factor into the next chapter. The digging work is done by the excavators and the trenchers, which will provide the below-ground enclosure and the power cable from the fusion reactor pack to the enclosure.

Second, Clint is forming up the first of the Rail Guard teams. This is where the Trains start being disassembled, and as it happens, where the largest part of Sigma's initial recruits and civilians will come from. You'll see in Chapter 10 what I mean exactly as the Train is cleared out, and you'll also get a solid look at the salvage to be gleaned from the Train itself.

The third major point is the Secret Service unit that Toni now has in play. They'll be key to certain events going forward, and you'll get a good look at some of the Nonhuman dynamics in play with them around.

On the opposite side, there is the asshole with the bat. He isn't the first, and certainly won't be the last, but his at-bat is well into the future. There are other assholes in play, and some of them will make noise in the next chapter. Things have an excellent propensity to get ugly, so stay tuned on that note.

As to the rest, well, I say pay attention to the Engineers. They're going to make some moves in coming chapters that will cause brix to be shat. Serious bricks. I won't say anything for fear of spoilers, so I'll just hold it at that.

On my writing front, I am over halfway done with the next chapter of Archangel's Amazing Adventures, and I expect to have it completed by the end of next week for the writing phase. The Beta-read phase typically takes about a week past that, so you can expect my next official story chapter to be April 10 so long as nothing goes Tango Uniform (5) in the next week.

**NEXT UP**: Things get a little messy around Base Boarhound, but some important movements are made to begin the process of preparation for external operations. And, in the midst of the coming shitstorm, an important lesson is demonstrated to everyone in Sigma.

* * *

><p><strong>Review Replies<strong>: Three replies for Chapter 4!

Knives91: I build worlds based on what I would expect to happen inside the confines of a given scenario. It definitely isn't pretty, especially since the scenario stipulates it isn't pretty. When the shit hits the fan, there is no water mist content to form a rainbow, you follow?

As to the explanation on which guns are used, well, I will have to incorporate that lesson into a coming chapter. Probably Chapter 7 or 8 during a Rail Guard training scenario.

HolyDragoon: I don't fault the Europeans for having solid ground armor, like I said right now it is a tie between the Abrams, LeClerc, Challenger, and Leopard. That said, you are right about certain ground-attack aircraft, and those ground-attack craft may have to show up in this story :)

Guest Reviewer / KPhoenix (Forgot to log in for his review): The thing about the grudges is that the Star League has gone out of its way over the years to abuse its power. That creates enemies, especially enemies of Specialists that they screw in the process.

Actually, the group will go with the ACR at the end of the day, but I might as well block-quote the reply I sent you earlier. As to the AK versus AR debate, neither are technically bad rifles. Your bog-standard AK is loose-tolerance, designed to be handled by and work in the hands of conscript soldiers. The AR-15 requires better training and more attention to cleaning or maintenance, but it is far tighter tolerances and can outshoot the shooter in most cases. The ballistics in close favor the AR-15, but at intermediate ranges (300+ yards) the AK ekes out a little better result per round on target. Additionally, both rounds are capable of reaching out to 800 or more yards, but most AKs are not expected to hit at that range and the energy on target from a 5.56 at that range is down below that of a .22LR at 100 yards.

You are right about the psionics, that is an invasion of privacy, but in this case Hess would let it slide to a degree. They're not doing so for malicious purposes, and the reasoning is to make sure they're not about to get killed by a maniac or sociopath. On the face of it, a perfectly understandable defense mechanism, though after he does realize what is happening, there will be some words.

It will be a minor issue going forward, but not so much as it would seem a big deal as the nonhumans are making of it right now. Hess will take some actions in coming chapters that intend to diffuse the situation to a fair degree, which will culminate around Chapter 20 or so. As to what goes on with the Secret Service or relationship issues, like is said, nobody knows of what happens on the top floor, so sayeth Toni.

The FF9 cast is going to be a tricky one for just exactly the same reason you point out. That said, Steiner will have a bit of an episode of coming to his senses after the shit and the fan collide, so what happens around that crew is yet to be seen. They could, of course, use it as an experience to 'level up' here in Sigma territory and then take the fight back to Kuja in their homeland :)

Now, as to Toni's present course, stay tuned for the next chapter. The bulk of her present conduct will be thoroughly explained at that time.

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE REVIEWS! The more gas, the hotter the flames, so keep 'em coming!

* * *

><p><strong>The Gripe Sheet<strong>:

No direct gripes, but a serious questioning of a course being followed by a character. All will be covered in the next chapter. As always, much thanks to **One Village Idiot**, **Necroblade**, **Takeshi Yamato**, and **Sieben Nightwing** for the beta work!

* * *

><p><strong>Footnotes<strong>:

(1): **Cheese Wagon** is a common derogatory term for School Bus in American schools.

(2): **M**aintenance, **R**epair, **O**verhaul.

(3): Contrary to the can's common name (the .50-caliber Ammo Can), the M2 Ammo can is used for storage and transport of a lot more than just simply 50-caliber ammo. In the cited example, a single 50-caliber ammo can hold 840 rounds of 5.56 NATO in one-magazine (30 round) boxes, and has some extra storage room for a couple spare STANAG magazines and stripper clip guides.

(4): **Titanocrete** is a reinforced concrete mixture consisting of Volcanic Ash Cement, Titanium Rebar, and powdered titanium added into the concrete aggregate to increase durability by several orders of magnitude. The Volcanic Ash Cement gains strength as it ages, and the titanium provides both extra strength and thermal resistance to the mix, with the titanium rebar acting as an internal heat sink to the assembly. For this reason, Titanocrete is a preferred material for Dropship landing pads.

(5): NATO Phonetic again, this time for **T U**, an abbreviation for **Tits Up**, which roughly means 'dead' or 'immobile' in most cases.

* * *

><p><strong>Included Works<strong>:

—Real Life Armaments — too many to name, that is most of the arsenal shown.  
>—Real Life Combat Gear — the vests and gear carried by the Militia troops are easily constructible from stuff you can buy on Amazon or Cheaper Than Dirt. No, Seriously, Look it up. Do a search for "UTG Modular 10-Piece Complete Kit", and you have a good look at a starter kit for any serious gearhound.<br>—Real Life Concepts  
>—Real Life Time Period: 1930s New York City (Shown in Chapter 2, referenced here in newspaper headlines)<br>—Real Life Equipment: The Caterpillar equipment showcased in this chapter is based on real life designs or equipment from said manufacturer.

—Real Life Mythology: The Phoenix race of beings are derived from the mythological Phoenix (Egyptian) and Thunder Bird (Native American). That said, I have made some serious modifications to the whole principle that will be revealed in coming chapters.

—Personal Works: The Star Empires are mentioned briefly here. Additionally, the Magi Empire is named specifically.  
>—Personal Works: The Star League is a derivation of the Star League from Battletech, but founded by Queen Sora Serenity (Executor-Queen Sora Takenouchi).<br>—Personal Works: The Executors are specialized Mages who have transcended a minimum of twice (Gods and Goddesses are a minimum Transcendance of once) and are specially commissioned to defend life and honor amongst the Star League territories or member states.  
>—Personal Works: The 10mm Kurz cartridge is a shortened  lower velocity / lower weight version of the 10mm BG round, developed by the Magi for 'crowd pleasing' against large masses of Negaverse troops, most of which were unarmored during the Star Empire Wars. It quickly became a favored heavy machine gun round for multiple purposes after the fact. (Shown in Chapter 1)  
>—Personal Works: Gerald Lightbringer is most famous for his participation in my Jokers Wild series, but his history is far stranger than either story properly shows.<p>

—Anime General: the oddball hair colors, especially endemic to nonhumans.  
>—Anime General and D&amp;D: the nonspecific concept of Elves, Nymphs, and Sylphs.<br>—Anime Trigun: Vash The Stampede, Millie Thompson, and Meryl Strife took the wrong train, ended up hanging out, and now are tagging along with the Militiamen.

—Game: Battletech: You are starting to see some serious discussion of Battletech units and force concepts in this chapter. They will become more prevalent as the story marches on.  
>—Game: Dungeons and Dragons (First Edition): A lot of the spellcraft will be drawn from D&amp;D as well as other sources to be named.<br>—Game: Dungeons and Dragons (First Edition): The concept of the Dragons of many colors is drawn from the D&D First Edition Monster Manual. Some mods were made (the Platinum dragon is not unique, and the Eternal Dragon is a wholly new class).  
>—Game: Final Fantasy IX: The player cast of the game (Zidane, Dagger, Steiner, Freya, Vivi, Eiko, Red, and Quina) are residing in one of the dining cars, but do not have a role as of yet. That will change in a few chapters.<br>—Game: Infantry Online (Sony Online Entertainment): The CAW from the early section, and named in the stinger, is a different-manufacturer version of the Kuchler A6 CAW. (Shown in Chapter 1)  
>—Game: Call Of Duty MW2: The Remington ACR in use in this story is based on the Magpul Masada  Bushmaster ACR / Remington ACR in use in said game. Hey, even if it was pooh-pooed in real life, someone in an alternate dimension would do it right, ne?


End file.
